The Dark Side of Paradise
by Potter-otter14
Summary: It's been two years since the war, and the wizarding world has been rebuilding itself since. Hermione tries to find herself content with her life and her job. While investigating a murder an accident occurs that puts her back in the company of Tom Riddle. Sequel to Affairs with the Dark Lord
1. Through the Looking Glass

_Authors Notes: I'm aware that with the last installment, the final chapter was felt as "rushed" and "anti-climatic". And the shit I had to deal with regarding the Season 3 finale of Twin Peaks smh. Anyway, it had been left open ended incase I did decide to go along with a sequel. But you know, call it anticlimactic because at least I didn't parallel universe it at the last minute. (Yes I'm still bitter about TP.) So, feel free to leave a review afterwards._

* * *

 _She saw those slit like red eyes glaring at her, determined to kill her. How they had lost their familiarity was beyond her. She saw a green flash after green flash but she didn't wake up. She felt herself wanting to scream. She was at such a loss of words, that trying to find them had caused her to wake up in a cold sweat._

Hermione looked around the room, it was her room. Her room with Ron. He was still snoring, unaware of her nightmare, and Hermione shoved her face into her pillow, begging death to take her to avoid hearing the snoring. Even after a week of Ron and Ginny encouraging her to try to get onto a normal sleep schedule, she still had nightmares. Flashbacks really, from the Battle of Hogwarts. It had been two years and even after therapy sessions the last six months hadn't helped. Hermione faced herself away from Ron.

The repairs on Hogwarts hadn't taken long and Hermione had decided to retake her seventh year. Ron and Harry had immediately taken entry positions with the Auror department. Of course, nothing really felt the same. Some parts had still been in repair and the class sizes were rather small, and the nightmares had been at their worst at that point. At one point, Hermione had attempted to slip into the Room of Requirement, but she hadn't seen Tom. Why would she have even wanted to? Then at graduation and months of dating had Ron asked her to marry him. Molly had fretted more over the details, and Hermione couldn't blame her for wanting something to distract herself with following the war. Her mind started to drift and Hermione found herself asleep.

/

Hermione heated up a prepackaged container of scrambled eggs and bacon once she dragged herself out of bed. Ron had already left by the time she woke up. He'd come home and nag about it as he frequently did. The flat was rather dingy but it was home. She hadn't picked up any leads on where her parents were since she sent them off to Australia with false memories. She had roughly an hour to get ready before appareling to the Ministry. Since graduating Hogwarts she'd been interning with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement before she had a solid amount of requirements to actually fill a position.

She ran Sleak Eazy's through her hair before trying to curl her hair. For the past month she'd developed a distain for the natural frizziness and hoped that the bout would go away and she could go back to not caring about her hair. Hermione grew frustrated having to settle for the black pair of pants she had over the grey pair of slacks she'd normally prefer. Only she did her laundry with Ron's and she'd been running behind on laundry in general. It was about the one normal thing she ever wanted to keep doing manually and now she was ten minutes behind schedule. Which was easy to catch up with but still inconvenient. She put on the black coat she had with the Ministry logo and grabbed her bottomless bag before preparing to leave.

It was selfish, truly selfish, that she was bored of her life. A normal, safe routine, with a normal safe fiancé, and a normal safe job. Granted, it was better than the drama and perils she'd endured during her years at Hogwarts, outside of the normal growing up, but Merlin was it boring. Talking to Ron was always pleasant, but it was just that. Pleasant. There wasn't any intellectual stimulation from it. Their conversations were so routine that they essentially responded in answers now. She had apparated into an alleyway near the Ministry entrance. Hermione turned down the left and came to the quaint little cafe that was usually perplexed by the people that walked in with strange clothes or mismatched prints but they took their customers as they did. She ordered a black and a cappuccino with two regular bagels, _one with cream cheese and the other with cinnamon butter_. It had been a new girl who had taken her order and the line had been surprisingly short.

She walked down the halls and could feel people looking at her every so often, but she'd been there long enough that it was hardly a big deal anymore. Her desk was clean, as it was. Hermione took out her own coffee and the bagel with the cinnamon butter and rearranged them on her desk as it was by routine. She went into her boss' office, Madam Cassini. Cassini had apparently been on friendly terms with Madam Bones prior to the elder woman's death. The office was rather barren on the walls, although there was a picture of Cassini and her daughter on her desk and a bookshelf on the back wall.

"I brought you a coffee," Hermione said.

"That muggle stuff?" Cassini asked. Hermione gave a small nod. "Love that stuff. Usually burned but never unlikeable. Has that heart to it."

Cassini eagerly took the bagel and remaining coffee from Hermione.

"Also, I'll be gone for the next two weeks," Cassini continued.

"Yes, that meeting with the German Ministry," Hermione said.

"That one. Well, a case came in late last week. Apparently this, Georgina Smith is suspected of murder, the Auror department is supposed to inspect the mansion and I need someone to give me an accurate report of the events and collect whatever information there is on the case with that."

"You want me on a field assignment?"

"You're one of the best, Miss Granger. I trust you with this. I also think your friend Potter is on the assignment."

"Thank you, Madam."

Madam Cassini waved her out of the Room with a case file following behind her. Hermione looked over the case report as she inserted her normal information data. Apparently, a witch, _Moira Verone, half-blood age: 28_ , had gone over to Georgina's mansion as a part time maid and her family hadn't heard back in forty eight hours about what had happened to her. Hence the report. Georgina, _pure-blood age: 59,_ had a rather radical streak that nobody had paid attention to, and was suspected of supporting Voldemort. They weren't quite sure what the murder object was, and the team that would be going out the next week would be looking for any sign of Moira.

Hermione closed the case file and went back to inserting her main information. Numbers, names, fill in whatever was needed; working on this case would hopefully give her some much needed variation in her life. Harry had dropped by her desk around lunch, Mrs. Weasley had wanted him to deliver her a bag that had some sort of sandwich and a pastry. Apparently the matriarch had been concerned about her eating habits since she had become too absentminded to remember to eat.

"What do you think about the case?" Harry asked.

"Well, odd. There's no current evidence that would suggest a motive, and there isn't a body," Hermione said, glancing at the review file on her desk.

"The Auror department has a house elf of Smith's under custody right now. That should hopefully give us enough of a background for when we go to inspect the place next week."

"Best case scenario."

"How are things with Ron by the way?"

"They're... going."

"Hermione, you're getting married in a year. You can't tell me it's 'just going'."

She bit her lip and tried to avoid Harry's gaze. Ron hardly ever paid attention to her nightmares, and never really seemed to be outwardly... She couldn't find quite the right word because he did have more than a teaspoon of emotions.

"It's just... too perfect you know? Everything's working out like it should and I just... I feel horrible because how could I ever be ungrateful for having Ron? For being with someone I... love. I love him. And it's so sickly perfect I want to throw up," Hermione admitted. "I mean, tell me that's normal. That you're supposed to grow resentment towards your partner because of how... perfect everything is. That you can just check a box off of a list of things you're expected to do. Because I love him, Harry, I do. I just hate that feeling. Where I get what everyone should want and half of those people are dead."

"With the after math of the war, I can't blame your mentality. But you're allowed to be selfish, Hermione," Harry said. "Everyone deserves to be happy."

Hermione rolled her eyes to Harry's bemusement.

"Look, Ginny just finished Hogwarts and I think it would be a good idea if we had a dinner. Maybe after the inspection next week," Harry added.

"Sounds... great," Hermione said. She picked apart at the pastry. Did she like the blueberry tinted stuff, or was it something that she swept under the rug to avoid seeming like an entitled ass? Picking it apart was easier than dealing with it.

"Are you sure you're okay though Hermione? I wouldn't have wanted to add your name to the roster for this case if you weren't."

"You suggested me for the case?"

"Of course. You're brilliant. And are you positive you're okay?"

"Yes Harry."

"I should probably go back to my office, so I'll see you next week."

"Yeah, see you next week."

He glanced over at her before he left. The floor began to fill up again as people came back from their lunch breaks.

/

Ron rolled off of Hermione and she admittedly only felt relieved that it was over with. She stumbled into the bathroom, and when she walked out she heard Ron snoring, again. Her hand went over her stomach as she laid down again and recounted her times with the younger Tom Riddle. At the time he had been older, only as her years went by did the memories drift. Some days were sharper than others. And yet that was a one way street because he was... completely messed up as a person. She was glad he was dead. Hermione felt herself repeating the phrase, hoping that at some point she would believe it. And yet he had caused so many people pain. People she loved had lost people close to them because of him. It occurred to her that maybe there could be someway that she could go back in time and prevent the war from happening. This was an idea that was bound to be met with discouragement. She was too bright to go into the past when she could build the future. Hermione looked at her engagement ring sitting on the nightstand.

Was this really something she could push herself through for the rest of her life?

/

Although they had had plans to go out for a picnic, Ron had been called into work on an important update of some sort. It was somewhat disappointing experience. The times she actually spent with Ron was so few and far in between when they weren't trying to go off to work. Of course they needed the money and they needed their jobs to move up to places they actually wanted to be. And it was probably the one thing she had looked forward to doing with Ron. The empty feeling she had since the war, and admittedly sometime before, began to lodge itself deeper in her to her resentment.

She wasn't quite sure why she had called up Harry. To hear the phone actually pick up and not go to voicemail over a dense magical area was somewhat surprising.

"Hi, Hermione. Is everything okay?" he asked.

"I think I need to go back into the past," Hermione stated bluntly.

"Sorry, what?"

"Just, I know how to kill Voldemort now and I'm probably the most capable of the three of us that... maybe if I do I can prevent all of this from happening."

"Have you seen a therapist lately?"

"I'm not crazy, Harry."

"I'm not saying you are. Hermione. Listen to yourself, it's ridiculous. You'd disrupt what led to all of us being friends, and what's done is done. Voldemort is gone, Hermione. I know it's been difficult on all of us but that _plan_ sounds incredibly self destructive."

"It's not self destructive if it's for the greater good."

"Hermione, you had a chance to kill Tom Riddle. Realistically, no, because of the horcruxes. But it's absolutely messed up that you claimed you fell in love with him and yet you knew what he did. _To all of us_. What makes you think you could put yourself in a toxic situation like that again where none of us can help you?"

There was a pause in the conversation. He did have a point. But she wasn't trying to be self destructive.

"You're right, I'll just... work things out with Ron," Hermione said.

"Alright. Well I have to get going for Ginny's quidditch practice today, should I call you later?"

"If anything comes up I'll call you. But hearing how ridiculous I sounded with talking with you, I think it helped."

"Okay, Hermione. Gotta go now, bye."

"Bye."

The line had already cut out by the time she caught on. Perhaps she was being self-destructive. Always the off chance she could be practical about the situation.

It did bother her that her mind did wander towards Tom. This had been perhaps the only time she'd ever told Harry, much less anyone, about going back to the past and killing the future Lord Voldemort. She'd attempt to cram down the intrusive thoughts but they'd always come back in someway or another.

When Ron came home later, he told her that there had been a possible lead on her parents down in Australia. Hermione was thrilled, and then she felt vaguely guilty about reminiscing about Tom the night before. And being somewhat ungrateful towards Ron when he'd been trying to help her find her parents. If the lead went anywhere he suggested that they ought to go find them and return their memories if possible so they could attend the wedding. The wedding. Her hand twisted the ring on her finger.

* * *

There were six of them on the inspection team. Harry was essentially lead despite being the one under mentorship. Leadership practice apparently. Georgina Smith was apparently still in custody for them to inspect the mansion. Hermione took the lead with Harry as they wandered around the mansion in search of evidence.

"I'm positive this is the same mansion Hepezilda had," Harry said. "From the memories Dumbledore showed me."

"What did the house elf say from that interrogation?" Hermione asked.

"Apparently Verone had over heard something and Smith had yelled a good amount of insults before she left. Then there was the following time Verone showed up and the elf, Zeph, had seen Smith go upstairs after her."

"What do you think it was about?"

"The house elf was under a binding spell. Couldn't tell us but we have a curse breaker working on deactivating the hex."

"You said the elf said upstairs, we might as well check."

They went farther upstairs, and for some reason it felt colder. _Probably just bad heating_ , Hermione told herself. She found herself rebuttoning her jacket in an attempt to stay warm. The rest of the group was still inspecting the downstairs area. They peaked through the doors, trying to find some evidence of Moira Verone to come up with nothing. The spare rooms were spotless. However, down the end of the right hall was a door they hadn't opened. A bad vibe rang through Hermione. She didn't necessarily want to go in the door but Harry had already unlocked it.

"Ron's looking forward to the dinner tomorrow," Hermione said as they walked through.

"I think I'm going to try to make spaghetti. If it doesn't work out I'm sure Ginny will try to order take out from this Chinese food place I made the mistake of introducing her to," Harry stated.

They found boxes of weird antiques. On the side of a wall was a dresser with strange looking trinkets.

"Must be from a will," Harry said.

"Borgin and Burkes would have a field day," Hermione said sarcastically.

They continued looking around. There was a strange smell coming from the back and they lifted their wands as they wandered towards it. On the side of the wall away from the draped covered windows was a mirror. It was circular shaped with a silver rim and had a luring pull to it. Hermione looked down and saw a severed hand.

"Oh dear Merlin," she sputtered out.

"That's probably Moira," Harry said.

"But where's the rest of her?"

They looked around the area where the hand was to no avail. There was however a faint dried blood trail that dropped shortly from the mirror. Only Hermione found herself drawn back to the mirror when she looked at it again.

"Hermione what are you doing?" Harry demanded.

She walked closer to the mirror and saw that the scene had shifted in it.

"I think there's something... wrong about this mirror. It's not showing my reflection," Hermione responded. She could see Tom. "Harry!"

"What?" he asked, rushing over to her anxiously.

"I see him."

Her voice had a dream like quality to it as she said it. He was walking around a shop, probably a little older than the last time she had seen him when she was young.

"Hermione, step closer to me," Harry said calmly.

She looked over at Harry who had a stunned look on his face. The mirror was echoing out to her; she turned back to it and went to touch the glass. It felt like water. There was a calm sensation over her and she felt like her head was being dunked into a sleep state.


	2. Drag Me to Hell

_Authors Notes: Do I know what I'm doing? Absolutely not. Does Tom meet Hermione in this chapter? Yes. Is that why this was a double update? Yes. However, please do enjoy the following chapter and leave a_ _review._

* * *

Knockturn Alley was relatively dead as it neared one am. He could however, hear the dying party cries from Diagon Alley a few blocks over. Why Borgin and Burkes had decided to remain open throughout New Years eve was beyond him. However, today was technically his last day and he didn't mind closing shop regardless. He went into the backrooms and pulled out the ledger and record books. He altered the record book to show that he hadn't met with Hepezilda Smith a week ago. In a few days it was inevitable that they'd get closer to figuring out who had murdered her since hardly anyone frequented the old mad woman. It wasn't that he meant to murder her, but god was she so sickly sweet and possessive that it left him without any other options!

He went to put the ledger back in after recording most of the day's income, which was barely average. Holidays at this point were rather stressful and did nothing but make business slow. Then the door swung open; he could've sworn he locked it unless it was Burke. Tom creeped out of the backroom before he saw her. It wasn't that he disliked her, no. Ersa Greengrass was of course bubbly, attractive, and vaguely intelligent, however he mostly utilized her since her aunt was in the Auror Department and she was so airheaded that she'd never picked up on the fact that he was just using her for information. Recently he was focused on the Smith case, however she was oblivious and didn't think for one second to consider him a potential suspect to hand over to the authorities. When the time came, that stupid Smith house elf would take the fall and no one would think otherwise.

She walked into the shop with a thick dark grey coat on and a white cap over her long brown hair. Sometimes Tom would try to think of the phantom girl from the Room of Requirement when he saw her but the illusion frequently died out quick. She looked at the artifacts in a frightened disdained look. When she looked at Tom, her face lit up. _Stupid, stupid girl,_ he thought to himself.

"I was wondering why you didn't come to my family's New Years gala," she said, although it sounded more of a whine.

"I had work," he shrugged.

"You said you'd be there at eleven, it's one right now."

"Ersa, I'd rather not talk about it."

"You're right. I'm probably overreacting."

The frustrated tone she had died out.

"It's just we've been together for nearly a year now and you still haven't met my parents—" she said.

"I can't argue against my work schedule. And as much as I'd love to, I'm moving to France next week," Tom said calmly.

"France! When were you going to tell me?"

"I'm sorry, Ersa. It hadn't hit me that it was really happening until recently but you were so busy with your Gala that I didn't want to bring you down with that news."

"Sounds… practical. Are you ever going to come back?"

"…Maybe. I might do more traveling, it's a thing I'm playing more by ear."

"Can I visit you?"

"Ersa, I have very much appreciated our time together but I think that at this point it's best if we part."

"Oh…"

"That is okay with you?"

"Yes. Absolutely. I guess I'll see you around at some point."

She gave him a smile and sauntered out the door the same way she came in. Perhaps, less distressed. Tom gave a sigh of relief. He would no longer have to deal with the Greengrass girl and she would probably end up in some arranged marriage. She was so fiercely loyal that if he ever did come back it was unlikely she'd try to start an affair. He went back into the backroom and closed the door to the room where the other artifacts were kept. He pulled his coat over him after leaving it on the chair for most of the day and grabbed his wand as he prepared to leave Borgin and Burkes. As he prepared to walk out the door he heard a loud crash from the backroom. He ran into the back and deduced it came from the archives before unlocking the second door.

"Lumos," he muttered.

The light half blinded him before his eyes readjusted to the darker space. Most of the relics were untouched, and he crept around slowly trying to see what had caused the chaos. Probably a rat, Knockturn Alley was infamous for them. Then he saw the Mirror. Or at least, what was the Mirror of Kronos. The round frame on the wall was untouched however the glass had shattered. Strange. He looked down and saw the figure of a girl. There were shards of the mirror around her and resting on her back. He knelt down next to her, rolling her over. She was still unconscious. She was young, and if anything she strongly resembled the phantom girl. However, her hair was purposefully curled rather than the frizzy mess of the phantom girl. He tried to wave his wand to repair the mirror but there wasn't any use. He picked up the shards of glass and put them under the mirror. It was far back enough in the shop that Burke probably wouldn't notice.

He carried the girl in his arms as he walked out of the shop and waved his wand to turn off the remaining lights and lock the door. There was hardly anyone in the street to notice him and the girl before he apparated them to his flat. She hadn't completely woken up when they arrived but he felt her hand tighten around his arm. He set her down on the bed he had before noticing that she'd been splinched. It was minor, a gash on her side that wasn't very long. He went into the cabinet in the bathroom for a bottle of dissany. When he got back, he noticed that the jacket she wore had covered the pair of grey slacks and she had a white button up shirt with a small Ministry pin. There was a small purple bag tied to her side. Interesting.

When he applied the ointment she made a small whimpering sound but didn't make any moves. He felt slightly guilty, but all in due time. There were other matters to attend to. He left her on the bed and changed into a pair of pajamas. Briefly, he wondered what had happened to the green sweater he had. It had vanished sometime around his seventh year and he was left disappointed at being unable to find it as it was perhaps one of his favorite articles of clothing. He would've worn it the next day doing errands if he had been able to find it. Not wanting to disturb the girl, he slept on the couch with a thick blanket over him. It wasn't comfortable but it would possibly help with establishing a trust with her. Or having her trust him, since that's usually how scenarios went.

* * *

Hermione's eyes fluttered open, the light wasn't that attractive. Then it occurred to her that she didn't know where she was. For a brief moment she forgot who she was and began thinking in German, before she remembered who she was and that she hardly remembered German. Her side burned lightly, she remembered that she'd been splinched the night before with Tom apparating her. As much as she wanted to jump for joy with seeing him again, it was an impractical situation. Tom. She was with Tom Riddle again. Her mind started thinking rapidly that she couldn't keep up with it.

She tried to calm herself down and think about what had led her to this. There had been the Smith mansion she and Harry went to inspect, Ginny wanting to have dinner that night, a strange room, and a mirror on the wall. She remember that Harry shouted something before she was rendered unconscious. How she had ended up in… the forties? Or essentially some point in time before Tom Riddle lost his good looks, was… strange. It realistically shouldn't have been possible. The mirror! She had to get back because she was probably changing time drastically enough that it could alter future events. She had to get back to Ron.

But did she really want to?

The smell of coffee lingered in her nose and she pulled herself out of the bed. There had been a light blanket thrown over her and her clothes were still untouched. She took of the Ministry pin with shaky hands before putting it in her bag along with Ron's engagement ring. The bathroom was adjacent and she splashed her face with water, getting rid of the drool marks on her face. She was with Tom again. He had thought her unconscious when they had gotten back, but… it was him. There wasn't any denial in that. She walked out of the bathroom and went into the kitchen area once she found it to see Tom.

He wore pastel green pajamas, the shirt was a button up with ridiculous white buttons, and leaned against the counter leisurely with a black mug. It probably would've been more comical if he looked like his older self, however this was plain disturbing seeing him so... normal.

"You're up," he said flatly looking at her.

She noticed that he looked somewhat older this time around. The hair was still slightly wavy and pretentiously tousled, but his jaw seemed more defined and he looked like he hadn't eaten in years.

"What time is it?" She asked.

"Nearly eight," Tom responded.

Hermione gave a small nod.

"I'm Tom, by the way. I found you passed out last night after a — very strange occurrence. Do you need any help miss?" he started.

"Jean," Hermione lied. "Jean Clearwater. What… exactly happened if I may ask?"

"Well, I was finishing closing shop, and you were sort of passed out on the floor in front of a mirror."

"A mirror. It's— still where you found me, right?"

"Not… entirely."

"What do you mean 'not entirely'?"

"The mirror broke once you fell through it I'm assuming."

"It's— broken?"

He gave a nod. Hermione felt light headed and sat on the beat up brown couch. The mirror had broken upon her arrival. There wasn't anyway for her to get back. She was trapped. Time turners couldn't go forward in time anyway. He looked at her curiously. She knew. He didn't. It was weird giving an alias. It's not like she would run into her past self. But it would be harder for him to recognize her, possibly, if her name was altered. Not completely. She didn't particularly like having him not know her. But it hadn't been her choice to go back in time.

"You did manage to go through the mirror of Kronos, which I thought was a scam of a mirror. But, judging by your clothes I'd guess you're not from this time period," he stated.

"So what if I'm not?" She questioned.

"Well, I'd say you'd be in quite a bit of danger going out if you don't know where you're going."

"You came to that conclusion by…"

"You had a ministry pin. You took it off. Nobody at the Ministry would recognize you I'm assuming. If you did tell anyone in the Ministry they would probably try to get information from you about the future. Plus, it's just getting out of war time."

"So.. staying with you is the best solution?"

"I didn't say that."

"You were thinking it."

"I'm relatively indifferent on if you stay or go. I'm currently planning on leaving for Nice in two days."

"Why France?"

"Miss Clearwater, there's something called knowledge which you can't necessarily find in one place forever."

"There was the Library of Alexandria."

"Then some idiot decided to torch the place."

Tom put the mug down and walked out of the kitchen.

"I have a meeting today and I won't be back until three after. You can make yourself at home if you decide to stay—" Tom said.

"If you think I should, I will," Hermione said.

He gave a nod before going into the bedroom and closing the door behind him. A creeping feeling slid up Hermione's back as she realized she was willing putting herself in a position for the future Lord Voldemort to possibly torture (again), and in a place where she would be forced to depend on him. Then again, he was the only person that she knew— although he didn't remember her— besides Dumbledore but she wasn't sure how much help he could be when he didn't know about the horcruxes in this time period. Staying with Tom remained to be the best option, for the time being, as it would allow her to destroy the horcruxes and derail his plans of becoming Lord Voldemort. At this time, she noticed Tom hadn't taken off her jacket and she found a spare hanger in the closet. Being domestic like this was just— weird. Not even domestic, domestic would imply that he knew her.

Tom walked out some moments later with a pressed black suit on and grabbed an overcoat from the nearby closet. As he walked to the door, he paused and turned back to her.

"And Jean," he started.

"Yes Tom?" Hermione responded.

"Don't go through my stuff."

Before she could get a word out he walked through the door. She huffed and shuffled through the cabinets trying to find a mug to use for her own cup of coffee. As the coffee started to brew, Hermione contemplated sending a request to Dumbledore for a meeting. If anything did happen to her, at least one person would be able to get Tom arrested— possibly. On the alternate, it could lead to her disturbing the time stream again. The first time she had messed around with time in the Room of Requirement, despite her efforts, Tom still remained Dark and became Lord Voldemort. That however, had been influenced by her taking away his memories and the time stream remained over all unaffected. However, this time she knew how to kill him and could possibly have some hold over him with his curiosity about her.

She looked at the small bookshelf in the living room as she sipped on her coffee. There were a few titles she recognized such as Hogwarts a History, some questionable titles that probably pertained to the Dark Arts, an untitled black bound book that was nestled in between, it was too small to bother looking at, and Phantom of the Opera. The room was rather dark and Hermione waved her wand to open the curtains. Muggle London. They were in the muggle part of London. Granted not the best part, but it was surprising with how much Tom had a dislike for muggles. It occurred to her that the rent was probably cheaper here opposed to the magical parts.

It wasn't that she meant to pass out reading Phantom of the Opera. Although she had. She was somewhat aware she was in a dream; the first sequence had been similar to her battle with Voldemort, however this time he used a crucio before Harry stepped in. The feeling rippled through her before she had managed to pick herself up and ran around Hogwarts as it was constantly destroying and rebuilding itself and strangely enough— she found herself wanting to find Tom. Then she woke up with her clothes strewn around her.

She picked herself up and reorganized herself. The book was angled slightly off from when she found it once she put it back. Not long after did the door open to Tom, whom seemed like he had a lump of coal up his ass that if he ever shit it out it would come out a diamond. Ferris Bueller wouldn't come out for around thirty years and the fact made Hermione nostalgic and frankly, a little sick.

"So how was your day?" She asked in a slightly chirper tone. It was more of a _i_ _'m trying to not seem like I'm freaked out about being stuck in the 50's_ rather than a _I_ _'m madly in love with you._ Her time with Ron had unintentionally allowed her to reflect more on her relationship with Tom without his influence, and minus the murder, she realized she probably did love Tom Riddle. But that was information he didn't _need_ to know.

"Uneventful," Tom responded. "Might I ask how your day ended up?"

"I tried to read through the Phantom."

He gave a nonchalant shrug.

"As much as I like the pants, it's too— your time for now?" Tom said.

"I guess I ought to get something more relevant," Hermione said.

"You might as well transfigure the pants into a more practical skirt. I can give you some galleons or something to go to Diagon Alley—"

"I'm quite fine on my own regarding that. For the time being anyway."

"Best do it tomorrow early as to avoid any complications going to France."

* * *

Jean stood at the sink doing the dishes from their dinner to Tom's annoyance. _Are you a witch of what,_ he thought to himself. It had been growing later at night and the occupants in the next apartment over were shouting.

"Do you have anything I could… maybe borrow to sleep in for tonight?" Hermione asked, drying her hands with a towel.

Tom gave a shrug before going into the bedroom. He glanced over and saw Jean was standing anxiously in the door frame. He threw a plain undershirt at her. Then he grabbed a pair of sleepwear and began to walk over to the bathroom before he felt Jean's hand hold his arm lightly.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"You're welcome," Tom responded. "I'll sleep on the couch again tonight."

"The beds big enough for two."

He looked at her confused. A strange look passed over her face.

"I'm sorry for the suggestion," Jean said.

"You were attempting to be considerate. However, it would be more appropriate for me to sleep on the couch," Tom said.

* * *

Hermione couldn't quite remember anything about the dream besides it being a nightmare when she woke up screaming and paralyzed in the twisted bedsheets around her. The door had swung open to Tom who knelt down on the side of the bed.

"Are you okay Jean?" He asked.

Her mouth was dry and she struggled to find the words that were easy to say. "Just a nightmare," she forced out.

"About?"

"Same one I've had since… it's nothing, Tom."

"Let me help."

A faint smile traced itself on her lips.

"It's fine, Tom," she repeated, placing her hand over the one he had on the bed. "Besides, what's that Kronos Mirror you mentioned earlier?"

"Like I said, I thought the one at the shop was a sham," Tom said. "It was there before I got there but apparently some wizard from Greece had escaped the War and sold it. There were five originally. Going forward in time doesn't harm the mirror but going back can make the person unable to return. Three of them were destroyed back around the Dark Ages, and two of them went missing."

"So there could be one out there that I can use to go back, to my time."

"Would you have any idea of how to find it?"

Hermione looked up at the ceiling, trying to think of any possible way she could find it.

"Hepezilda Smith's relative," she stated. "That's how I went through."

She felt Tom pull his hand away from hers.

"Was it something I said?" Hermione asked.

"What if the mirror you went through was the one that was from the shop and ended up being the one the Smith family would have that you'd go through? It would've split the timeline," Tom snapped.

"Perhaps… perhaps I really am stuck here."

"Look, do you want any tea or anything to help you go back to sleep?"

"No… no, I'm fine just don't worry about it."

"You were screaming bloody murder!"

"I didn't remember this one, but there's not a doubt in my mind it was about the war."

He looked at her curiously.

"A war?" He asked.

"It ended a few years ago, in my time anyway. I just— I can't ever unsee it," Hermione admitted.

"You're… you're so _young_ , why would you fight in a war?"

"I had— friends, people I cared about that I needed to fight for. I couldn't let—"

"Let?"

"Let the war destroy everything. They'd be exiles or dead, and the war would continue."

Hermione took a breath, relieved that she had avoided mentioning anything about Lord Voldemort. Tom had a concerned look on his face as he looked at her. She had to restrain herself from joking about why he was always older than her when they met— but he didn't know her for the punchline to land.

"You're incredibly brave for putting yourself through that when you didn't have to," Tom said.

"I had to, Tom," Hermione said.

"Well, you're safe now. Go back to sleep."

She gave a small nod and untied herself to fall back asleep. Only she was disturbed when she heard the door open again. Tom had put his pillow on the floor and laid on the side of the bed.

"That's unnecessary," Hermione muttered.

"I'd rather not hear you screaming for another fifteen minutes over a dream. At least this way you'll wake up faster," Tom snapped.

/

Hermione had to Tom suggestion, transfigured her clothes into something more acceptable for the time period. She ached to go back home, where everything made sense, where she would be with Ron. Safe, impulsive, Ron who loved her without an underlying motive. They had apparated across from Diagon Alley before going through the bar. The clothes everyone wore weren't that different but the wizarding world was essentially stuck in the Victorian Era for all eternity.

Some of the stores were different as she walked with Tom. He started talking about how some buildings were coming up in the alley, and how there was supposed to be a new edition of Astronomy research to be published that he was looking forward to. She looked up at him, he was much more passionate when he was talking this time around, and she felt herself falling in love with him again. They had then come up to where Madam Malkins would be, only at this point in time it was known as Evangelista's Dress Robe's and Fashions. The woman, whom Tom called "Evie", was growing rather old but had a particular sort of fondness for him as he talked. She led Hermione into the back, the younger girl looked back at Tom who nearly gave a small nod of assurance.

They ended up walking out of the shop with some dress robes and a cloak that were appropriate. Tom had insisted on paying because of how the norms were in this time period. He ended up walking them to some ice cream shop at the end of the corner. Apparently muggle clothes would be easier to get in France as thats where they'd be spending most of their time. They had stopped by the Leaky Cauldron and Tom had been rather excited about how the hot chocolate was better than the Butterbeer selection. He had gotten distracted at the bar by an older man and a younger woman who Hermione assumed was his daughter, as she didn't look much older than her and she had a fur hat covering her long dark brown hair. The girl had looked rather enamored with Tom.

She didn't like to admit she was bitter about the other girl flirting with Tom. He didn't seem to be that impressed with her, but he never seemed impressed with anything. Hermione saw Dumbledore walk into the bar and she quickly darted through the crowd towards him.

"Professor Dumbledore!" she called out once she was nearby.

He turned around and looked at her curiously.

"Sir, I'm aware you don't know me, yet, at this point. However, I must request a meeting with you at some point tomorrow at the earliest convenience over a rather complicated matter that's rather urgent. A priority if you will," she said quickly. She glanced over at Tom who was still busy with the older man and the woman with him. "I'm Hermione Granger by the way."

"Well Miss Granger, I have a meeting with the Order of Merlin in the afternoon. I could perhaps meet you here tomorrow morning, perhaps around 10?" the younger Dumbledore said.

"Thank you. Thank you so much."

He gave a small nod before running into the younger barman Tom. Hermione slid back into the table she had been saving for her and Tom. He talked to the barmaid before he walked over with the cups of hot chocolate.

"Are you positive about leaving for France with me tomorrow?" Tom asked.

"Absolutely," Hermione said, she reluctantly glanced at the girl Tom was previously talking to as she walked off.

"I have to admit, you do seem vaguely familiar to me."

"I might just be one of those people."

She sipped on her mug anxiously. His memories were sealed off, it was unlikely he'd regain them on his own. What if he had noticed that she was the girl from the Room of Requirement the last time she saw him? Momentarily, she had regretted taking his memories. She ached to tell him she loved him, that she regretted taking his memories, that she missed him, and she couldn't say any of these things because he didn't know her.

"Are you okay, Jean?" he asked. "You've been a little, out of it since I got back with our drinks."

"I'm perfectly fine," Hermione lied.

 _I'm slightly jealous of you talking to another girl even though I have no right_.

"Whatever you say," Tom said nonchalantly.

/

When they had gotten back to the apartment, Hermione could overhear Tom talking to himself in butchered French before scolding himself and continuing. She rolled her eyes as she laid on the bed reading the Phantom again. However, Tom had grown more irritated with himself that Hermione stormed into the room where Tom was reading a book on how to speak French.

"You're absolutely horrible, and I know you're aware but _merlin_ do you _even_ want to know how bad you are at the damn language!" Hermione screeched.

"And you're the expert I should consult?" he questioned, looking up form his book.

"I used to go to the Alps with my parents to ski, actually every once in a while it would be Australia... _point being_ , I'm probably more reliable to talk to about it."

"It's not _my_ fault I've fallen out of touch with the language in the past two years because you're _supposed_ to speak English in this country!"

"That's a rather bigoted way of looking at it! And when did you take French?"

"I had some associates where French was used."

Hermione rolled her eyes and contemplated going back to the room and casting a silencing charm around her.

"Jean, would you please help me with the damn language?" Tom asked.

Anxiously, she walked over to the other end of the couch. It had been easier once Tom had agreed to ignore the book and work on more practical phrases that would be more beneficial when they left. In doing so, she recalled how she would help Tom study for his NEWTs and she tried to refrain from showing any emotions from the remembering. They had lost track of time before Hermione gave a delayed yawn.

"You should go to bed," Tom said.

"I'm fine, Tom," Hermione said, only to be interrupted by another yawn.

"You're going to bed."

She made a rather mocking expression on her face out of irritation to Tom's amusement.

* * *

The morning was met by the sound of a repetitive tapping on the window. Tom dragged himself off the couch before opening the window. A screech owl had a letter attached to its foot, which Tom unclasped. He went into the kitchen and brought out a bowl of water to the owl, who was rather delighted in its payment. Of course it was from Abraxas. The plans for how things would continue without him being in England were precise and easy to follow. What the hell did fucking Malfoy need?

He heard Jean walk into the bathroom and start the shower. Quickly, he glanced at the letter; yes, he would have to visit Malfoy Manor before he left. He glanced at the bookshelf, nothing was out of place. Besides, most of the furniture in the apartment wasn't his, which would make packing all the more easier. Jean had walked out sometime later with her hair done and she wore one of the newer outfits they'd gotten the day before. She was plain to an extent, and he hadn't gotten to utilize the extent of her magical abilities yet. It occurred to him that he was only keeping her around because she resembled the Phantom girl and if she became any less valuable, he might as well plan on trying to kill her. There was however the future aspect that was undeniable although she hadn't given any _useful_ information about it.

"I have a meeting I need to attend, last minute, can't avoid it," Tom said. "I shouldn't be back any later than two, and at that point we can pack up and depart."

"Oh," Jean said.

He shrugged and used the Floo to get to the Manor.

* * *

Hermione had given a small sigh of relief once Tom had left. She messed with the buttons on her jacket before she left for her own meeting with Dumbledore. She sat in a darkened corner of the bar with the mug of butter beer in her hands. It was going on ten thirteen and there wasn't any sign of Dumbledore. The door of the pub swung open to frosty air and although faint, Hermione felt herself take a sip off of the liquid. She'd been too focused looking at the main door that she hadn't seen Dumbledore sit in front of her.

"Miss, Granger, is it?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. Thank you for meeting here, professor," Hermione sputtered out.

"You mentioned having something urgent to discuss?"

"Yes. Now, I'm aware I might... sound strange, but I assure you I'm telling the truth. I'm an accidental time traveler if anything. The year two thousand I was working with the ministry on investigating a murder case when I fell through this... mirror of Kronos. Only I end up coming here."

"There's an active Mirror of Kronos?"

"Was. I believe it was destroyed upon my arrival. Currently I'm relegated to the company of Tom Riddle..."

"Miss Granger, I'm aware that although he was Head Boy at Hogwarts, he's not a person to be trusted."

"I'm very much aware. I also know who he becomes in the future that it led to, frankly two wars I believe, and I firmly intend on killing him before he can go on to cause the damage that's costs the lives of people I've cared about. I met him once, before now, back in what was his seventh year during a fluke error with the Room of Requirement, and... he tried to lure me into becoming one of his followers and I failed at killing him then."

"Are you positive that killing Mr. Riddle will solve the problems in the future?"

"It's the only way. I couldn't turn him then, and now I'm... he doesn't remember me and that gives me a temporary advantage unless he recovers his memories. However, I don't trust him which is why I've come to you. Tom currently knows me under an alias of Jean Clearwater, if anything happens to me in either name, I want you to be aware enough to possibly contribute to his possible arrest. He's capable of killing me if I step out of line or... something else, I'm not sure what the reason would be per say. And, if I don't succeed this time, I need to give you the information that could be pivotal in bringing his end."

"Miss Granger..."

"Please, professor. He's.. he's created horcruxes, and you won't find out about this initially for a number of decades but the sooner you know the better. There's seven. Remember them. There's a diary, a ring, Slytherins locket, Hufflepuffs cup, a diadem, and somewhere past the nineties will a snake come into the picture as well as... my friend Harry. If I can't destroy at least the first five on my own, you must carry out his destruction. Otherwise war will be inevitable."

"You believe that the time line can be altered with this information, and not just... lead to what has already been done?"

"I have to hope that the timeline has diverged and that I can alter previously fixed points because I have no other way of going back home."

He gave a small nod.

"And this urgency is because?" Dumbledore asked skeptically.

"I'm leaving with Tom for Nice, tonight. I had to tell you before he found out. Actually, he probably already knows but I had to relay this information to someone I could trust," Hermione responded. "I'm only staying with him to be closer to the horcruxes."

"I believe I should be off for the Order's meeting. Perhaps I will see you again if you decide to return."

He stood up and walked out of the door and Hermione trailed behind before she apparated to the apartment. She needed to find the ring, fast. The internet didn't exist yet, and she didn't have a library... The library! There was one a few blocks away and she found herself running down the stairs to the nearby muggle library. It was already going on noon, if she could be back at the apartment by one that would be the most beneficial to avoid questioning by Tom. If he was anything like his future self, it was likely he'd have an iron grip on whatever situation he was in.

The small elderly librarian had been helpful in telling her where the newspapers were, although he'd talked much too slow that Hermione nearly ran into the area. She tried to think of when Tom was born and began to rummage through the newspapers of 1930. Riddle, Riddle, nothing had Riddle! It had taken what felt like forever before she found one, it was a rather beat up copy and the ink was fading. She glanced over it frustrated before coming to a picture of a man that looked like Tom, albeit drugged, alongside a woman who was... not aesthetically pleasant. Curious, she looked over it, finding that it was about a Tom Riddle recently marrying a woman named Merope Gaunt in a small town called Little Haggleton.

She thought back on how Harry had told them about the horcruxes. He had made them objects that were close to him, as well as objects from the founders. There was the possibility that the ring was in Little Haggleton and, remembering the time crunch, she looked around her area of the library before deciding to apparate when it seemed clear. Hardly anyone went to it upon her first inspection.

/

She had arrived at the edge of the town, seeing a sign that said LITTLE HAGGLETON 20 KIL nearby. She decided to walk briskly, as to avoid any possible suspicion. What if Tom had spies? He liked his followers however this was a place where his muggle father lived, and it seemed unlikely he'd risk anyone knowing about his half-blood status. He had already killed his paternal side by this point, the calendar in Tom's apartment said the year was 1950 after all. She had accidentally bumped into a woman crossing the street before quickly apologizing. The woman, Cecilia, nearly beamed saying the accident was her fault. It was perhaps, Hermione's mistake that she asked about what happened to Merope Gaunt.

The woman quickly hardened, saying that " _that hag was worthless_ " and she had thankfully never heard of her for the past twenty or so years. Apparently the family had been beggars that lived in some shack at the other end of the town in the wood, and she stuck her nose up before walking away from Hermione.

She ran through the town in an attempt to find the Gaunt's shack. There was a trail that cut off after trees had fallen onto it and the wilderness had reclaimed the land. She could've sworn she cut herself on thorns but pushed through it to follow the dirt path. It had been rather obscure, the shack was covered in moss and ivy that Hermione swore she would've passed it had it not been for the drying snake skin on the door. It was truthfully distasteful. She looked around anxiously, before she opened the door. There was something, dark, pulsing through the small room. How could anyone have lived like this? As she walked further into it, a large black smoke screen appeared in front of her. Curious, she zapped a spell at it which quickly disintegrated. She tried a number of spells to bring it down to no avail.

Tom Riddle was demented. Tom Riddle was obsessed with the Dark arts to the point that it was his downfall. Hermione muttered a small cutting charm and held her hand out close to the wall. It seemed to wail as it parted. After taking a deep breath, she continued to look around the room. There was hardly anything in it besides the growing dust.

Her foot fell through a floor board and she screamed. As she pulled her foot up the board had completely splintered and a small box was revealed. Curious, she picked it up and opened it. The dark energy she had felt devoured her. Hermione opened the box and saw the ring. There was something pushing her towards putting the ring on. She closed it quickly and shoved it into her bag. Harry hadn't killed the basilisk yet, and therefore the sword of Gryffindor likely didn't have the venom in it yet. Sure it could absorb whatever made it stronger, but what were the odds that it could still destroy a horcrux at this point? Even having it in her possession would be risky as Tom would try to make a horcrux out of it because of his Founders obsession. The argument of it would work was still up for debate and hopefully never came into fruition. Hermione waved her wand to put everything back to where it was to cover her tracks.

She quickly apparated back to the apartment, the clock on the stove said it was one forty five. Hermione threw her bag on the couch and waved her wand to put her coat in the closet before conjuring up a cup of tea. Her heart was pounding as she drank the hot liquid. The fireplace roared and Tom gave a deep sigh as he lounged on the couch. They had used the sword and the fang because of the venom, then there was Fienfyre, but what other accessible way could she destroy the horcrux she had?

"So how was your day?" Tom asked.

"Uneventful," Hermione lied.

"I suppose we ought to pack."

She gave a slight nod and they started putting whatever belongings Tom had into boxes. They had then shrunk the boxes into a more casual looking container that Tom insisted on carrying. He had gone downstairs to give the keys back to the management and it was agreed that Hermione would meet him down after finishing cleaning up the apartment. She didn't have much time. The ring was echoing in her bag and she threw the box onto the floor. Fiendfyre was probably the only logical way of destroying the damn thing for the time being. She had casted the curse to see an otter escape in the fire, and had wielded enough ability to contain it until the horcrux shrieked. The smoke alarm was close to going off, and Hermione had been relieved that the curse had faded before she casted a light spell to torch the place. So what if other people died? It was easier to risk these lives than the future. She ran down the steps and met Tom at the cab he had called up.

It would be about ten minutes later that the apartment complex would be up in smoke and there wouldn't be an explainable reason as to how it had started. Tom, for his part, remained unaware of the destroyed horcrux and the fire.

They had arrived a docking station before Tom paid for the ferry. Hermione felt herself more relieved knowing she had destroyed one of the current five horcruxes. She wasn't sure if Tom had gotten the founders objects yet, but she needed to find the diary next. It hadn't been long before they arrived on the shores of France. Tom had shown the customs guard two passports before they were dismissed.

"We could detour to Paris if you want, it's a decent half way point before apparating again to Nice," Tom suggested.

"That'd be... splendid," Hermione forced out.

He held onto her arm before the sensation of apparating went through her. Perhaps he would actually be taking them to some forest to murder her. In a state of relief, he had actually taken them to Paris. They had ended up on the rooftop of a building and Hermione could see the Eiffel Tower ahead of them in the sunset. She vaguely wished Tom would've had his memories, as it would've made the trip... probably more enjoyable, maybe romantic. Only he didn't know her and that was her own fault.


	3. Sympathy for the Devil

_Authors Notes: Okay, I would've posted this sooner but decided to do a bit of rewrites about this chapter instead. Feel free to leave a review at the end!_

* * *

The hotel room had been rather cramped with two twin beds next to each other, however this was likely due to the already cramped room. However, for what had now been a week in the detour, the weather had been rather pleasant. Occasionally over cast but it hadn't rained. Hermione had been vaguely amused that most of the buildings were the same; more of the cliche designed buildings remained however this was likely due to them not being torn down yet for more modern looking buildings that would dot the city. As fascinating as it was, she did find herself wanting to go back home— only there wasn't any means to.

They had wandered into the magical side of Paris, which was slightly more modern compared to London, albeit more eccentric. Tom had seemed preoccupied in this thoughts as they walked through the city. He had refused to tell her exactly what the problem was. They had stopped at a coffee shop that had ceramic dragons that guarded the tables. For some reason Tom kept looking around the place and out the window was if he was trying to see someone. When they walked out of the coffee house, Tom had made a sharp turn down an alley, dropping Hermione's hand as he so insisted on having her hold, and Hermione's mouth was left agape. The spot he had left her at had a number of stores closed and she was standing in front of perhaps the only open shop on the street.

As she backed up to look at it she found the sign had been so worn over the years that she couldn't quite make out the words. However, the bright red light that lit up the equally red curtains in the windows had a sort of eerie vibe. Perhaps she should've walked away before a woman walked out of the shop, wearing deep purple robes, and her black and blonde hair had been curled rather tightly. Her eyes had crows feet around them and an anxious look on her face. The woman grabbed Hermione's wrist and dragged her into the shop. Somehow she found herself not protesting despite vaguely wanting to.

The lights in the small shop were rather dim. At this point, Hermione gave a sigh of annoyance realizing this was probably another false "seer" like Trewlany. Why was the bullshit divination always trying to make her reasonable world… frustrating.

"You are not from here," the woman said, the French accent was rather thick. Hermione gave a small nod. "You are attempting to drive out the darkness."

"Yes," Hermione said flatly.

"You will fail. To drive out the dark, you will have to condemn another soul in it's place."

Then the woman threw Hermione out of the shop, putting up a _Closed_ sign, and turned off the lights on the curtain. Strange.

"Oh good, you stayed," a familiar voice said. Hermione turned around to see Tom walking close to her with a square black box under his arm.

"You just left!" Hermione snapped.

"I had a… thing. Important thing. Besides, we should leave."

"Good idea, this place is kinda creeping me out."

"I mean, we have to leave Paris. Now."

He had grabbed her arm and they apparated into the hotel room. Tom waved his wand, opening the box and putting the new box inside of it. Then he turned the main box into a suitcase after he made sure their belongings were together. He put the key on the outside door handle before he grabbed a confused Hermione before they apparated once again. When the nauseating feeling faded, Hermione saw that they were in a forest. This is when he would kill her. He had probably grown bored of her and Hermione yanked herself out of her grip before she pointed her wand at him.

"What are you doing?" Tom asked, rather nonchalantly.

"So this is where you plan to kill me then? Is that right?" Hermione shouted. The memory of the Snatchers cornering her back in the Forest of the Dean replayed itself in her mind.

"No. That would be counter productive, and why would I do that?"

Her glare on him only firmed.

"You're from the future, if that silver tongue of yours would _talk_ I could get some information that could better advance society," Tom ranted. "If you're not going to tell me anything, _yes_ I would kill you. But you're from the future and for some reason I would rather not do that."

"You want information? Fine! Nobody knows you as Tom Riddle in the future!" She snapped.

He had a rather pleased look on his face. She wanted to laugh as to how even without his memories, he was still somewhat the same especially when she had repeated the line about his name. But he didn't remember that, and she wanted to crawl in a hole and forget that she had met Tom Riddle again.

"Anything else I should know about my future?" He asked.

She didn't know about the horcruxes the first time around. He didn't know that she knew about the horcruxes this time. Every inch of her was pleading with her mouth to not be snarky.

"You become less pleasant. Which is saying a bit much. But physically and mentally primarily," Hermione said.

"I'd rather not have that happen," Tom sighed. He walked over to her and grabbed her hand. "I have a… friend of a friend's friend that I need to meet quickly. After that— Nice."

She reluctantly followed him and could see that past the forest was a rather extensive pasture and a barn house and a quaint house not far from it. He had her stand near the nearby willow while he went over to the house. Tom knocked on the door of the house and started speaking rather perfect French to the young woman. She gave a small huff of annoyance. "I'm out of touch with French" _my ass,_ she thought. An older man walked to the door and Tom walked in. It had been sunset when he walked out of the house, the girl was much colder to him when she walked him out. He gave a slight jog as he went to meet Hermione by the tree.

"Shall we be off?" He asked. She grabbed onto his arm and they went away from the farm.

They had ended up at the front of a hotel that was rather large and isolated. Hermione could've sworn she could smell sea salt. Where they really this close to the beach? He'd taken her hand and led her into the place. Why did he have to be controlling like this? The front desk attendant had been a rather snooty fellow and when Tom gave the name _Malfoy_ — the other mans superiority retracted ever so slightly. They had then been walked up to their room by the bellhop— of whom was a boy no older than sixteen— and Hermione's skin was crawling as Tom's hand touched her back. This man had no memory of her where it was a rather unpleasant thing to acknowledge that he might as well be someone different. The bell hop left and they walked into the room. The other side of the wall had a large patio door, and the furniture looked like it had never been used.

She looked around the room, stunned by the chandelier, and thought that it was't unlikely to suspect that in the future the room would be divided into smaller rooms to be rented out in the future. Of course, this appeared to be of the magical sort where the probability of that occurring was perhaps smaller. There was however, only one large bed past the French doors on the left.

"I apologize, I had booked the room before your existence," Tom said.

Hermione looked up at him, half wanting him to get into the bed with her and fuck her senseless again, and the other half wanting to be repulsed and ask if the couch could be expanded for sleeping purposes. He walked over to the coffee table and poured himself a glass of whiskey.

"Didn't know you took up drinking," she stated. Damn it, what if he started to put the pieces together of knowing her?

"Miss Clearwater, I'm an adult, I can do whatever the hell I like," Tom shrugged. Clearwater, she'd forgotten about the alias of a last name. He kicked his feet onto the table. "Speaking of which, Jean could you come over here for a moment?"

Cautiously, she walked over to him. Internally, she wanted to leap from her body and never return to this accursed hotel room. There was hardly a ray of sunlight left before the lights in the room turned on by themselves. He looked up at her as he took another sip from his glass.

"Would you mind leaning over and telling me you love me?" He asked.

"Why on Earth would I do that?" Hermione asked defensively.

"I'm wondering why you've decided to raise your tone with me since nothing I've ever said nor done prior to this would've elicited this reaction."

"I've known you for what, two weeks— give or take— but it's absolutely ridiculous to ask that of a person! Besides, why would you even want me to do that?"

"You remind me of someone."

"Great."

Hermione crossed her arms and looked away from him. Jealousy would be the incorrect term to use. Perhaps used, her information to him about the future was minimal and vague at best, and she hadn't revealed the full extent of her magic. She was hardly useful to him in those aspects. So why not keep her around and figure out why she looked so similar to the girl he didn't know that was actually her? Her hand itched for her wand, maybe crucio him, only what if she broke the wall of the memory charm?

"It would be easier if I did a legitimus instead," he said.

She tried to keep her face as devoid of emotion as possible. He wasn't that different from his future incarnation apparently. There were things she needed to be kept in her head. She did as he had asked. Even if she had spent the last couple of years practicing Occulmency, it was better to be safe than sorry.

"I love you," she said.

When she pulled away, she noticed his hand had held onto the hand that she was using to balance herself on the couch.

"That… was definitely familiar," he grinned smugly.

"You're incapable of emotion so why was that so inherently important to you?" Hermione questioned, pulling herself away from him.

"I have this… very faint memory from five years ago of a girl telling me she loved me. I don't remember it and it does… intrigue me as to how any one could tell me that when I don't remember a goddamn name."

His free hand traced itself over her lip. She wanted to feel disgusted. Only her memories of Tom, her feelings, wanted him to do something about it.

"And what do you intend on doing with that girl if you ever find her?" Hermione asked; she tried to keep her voice from wavering.

"Get my memory back if she nows how, and see if I can control her," Tom shrugged.

"You're vile."

She pulled herself away from him and slammed the doors to the bedroom shut. Hermione cursed herself for nearly being senseless in almost allowing Tom to seduce her when in the reality, he would've gladly used her as carelessly as he did with his followers.

* * *

It had been rather intriguing seeing Jean try to hide her emotions. He didn't even need to pry into her mind to see that her eyes were giving everything away. She was likely to be the girl from the Room of Requirement he just had to wait to see how long it took her to break. Having to wait for her to give him back his memories— or other wise lead him to whomever _had_ taken his memories— was absolutely grueling. He ought to just break into her mind— only then he'd have to put up with her screaming about his intrusion that it would irritate him enough to kill her. Tom looked at the doors to the bedroom.

The lights had been shut off and there wasn't a sound coming from the room. Save for the brief moments of Jean throwing the pillows onto the floor— he could've sworn he heard one knock over something on the table in there. Briefly he wondered if Jean did have feelings for him. Most of the time she did comply with him but only recently had she become more anger prone and hostile. He'd place her in Gryffindor but she never said anything about where she came from. The only thing she _had_ mentioned was that there had been a war. He wanted to pry and figure out this puzzle she had given him.

He waved his wand and the lights in the remaining rooms had dimmed. There was always something off about Jean and he hated it. The way her magic had cackled around her when he asked her to lean over was powerful and yet she had no idea. Annoyed, he altered the pillows position on the couch before taking off his shoes. Normally he'd never have a problem with peering into another persons mind for information, but despite the need for wanting to figure a mystery out on his own, he wasn't sure why the idea bothered him so much about Jean. After all, she was stuck with him.

* * *

Hermione had woken up in a rather groggy state and hadn't bothered to go into the bathroom to wash up. She ran a hand through her hair and noticed it was frizzy again. The sun was bleeding through the window and she crawled out of the bed and decided to maybe dislike Tom a little less. Would she forgive him for the threat of using a legitimus? No.

The first thing she saw, when she walked out of the bedroom, was Tom leaning over the table with his hand on his nose. He was finishing up a white line.

"You know that's horrible for you!" Hermione said; a moment later she realized it had come out more of a defensive shriek than anything else.

He finished the line before looking up at her. His hair had fallen in front of his face.

"Maybe that's how you ended up without a nose in the future," she said, attempting to sound indifferent.

"And who are you to judge?" Tom questioned.

She poured herself a class of wine that had been in a bucket on the table. Briefly she remembered someone telling her at one point when she was younger " _when you get older, you realize everyone does coke_." She wanted to scream at whomever had said it, although she couldn't quite place who had told her, much less what the conversation had originally been about.

"What did you mean by I don't have a nose in the future?" Tom asked defensively. He touched his nose as if to make sure it was still there.

"I can't tell you," Hermione smirked.

"You know only prostitutes drink before noon."

"At least I'll have a nose."

"You keep going on about that so you ought to just tell me."

Hermione shrugged and lounged on the couch as she drank the wine.

"Your hair's bushy," Tom said.

"I'm aware," Hermione said.

"How about a walk on the beach?"

"I hate the beach."

"Why do you hate it?"

"Because the sand gets everywhere and I'd rather be on a street or two before the beach to avoid it."

"It's Nice, you might as well tolerate the sand."

"I didn't bring anything to walk on the beach with."

"Just wear what you normally would."

"And get sand all over it? No thanks."

Why were they arguing about the beach?

"Okay, no beach then," Tom said. "Can you please tell me anything _useful_ about the future?"

"Nope. That would probably disrupt the time stream further," Hermione shrugged. She took a sip of her wine looking out the window. There was a looming overcast. "However, Sunset Boulevard comes out in… I dunno early January I think of next year. I'd love to go see that when it's at it's first coming out."

"That's rather useless information."

"What are you going to do? Stab me to death?'

"A killing curse would be cleaner."

"That's illegal, Tom."

She walked back over to the table for another glass of wine before Tom stopped her.

"I wouldn't kill you because you're far more interesting than you know," he muttered.

He moved closer to her as she attempted to step back. This only lasted two steps before Tom held onto her waist and kissed her. It felt so… familiar. Too perfect. She leaned herself closer into him as the kiss deepened.

"Please… please tell me about me in the future," Tom said, breaking the kiss.

"I can't—," Hermione said, her breathe hiking as he kissed her neck.

She wanted to stay in this moment. Only she remembered who he became in the future… a man that she would vehemently oppose. This…. This wasn't her Tom but he wasn't outright Voldemort— yet. His hands wandered and she wanted to give in. As familiar as the feeling was, there was also an essence of detachment. This wasn't her Tom. This was someone trying to physically manipulate her for their own gain. Frustrated, she pushed Tom off of her and in the process dropped the wine glass.

"I thought you would've done that sooner," he said indifferently.

"What? Push you off or drop the glass?" Hermione questioned.

"Drop the glass."

"Don't talk to me for the rest of the day."

He gave a small nod and Hermione went back into the bedroom fuming. She had meant to calm down and ended up taking an angry nap. When she'd woken up again, the lights were off and there was a violent storm outside. Anxious, she walked out to the main room and found that it was empty. There was a small note from Tom on the table that plainly said _I'll be back soon_. The glass she'd dropped earlier had been repaired and on the table. There was a ringing in her ear and Hermione found herself walking back into her room where her bag was. She opened it up and summoned the box. It had a strange glow around it. Maybe it was just her eyes adjusting from that nap.

There was seething strange in the way the ring wanted her to put it on. At least it wasn't like the locket where it caused seething bitterness and jealousy. But how much worse was the ring? She pushed the box back into the bag and went back out of the room, trying to avoid the box. She had to destroy the horcrux. Then it was the diary and Tom Riddle would be dead. As she lounged on the couch she wondered if it was possible for her to break out into cabin fever. If that happened perhaps it'd end up being similar to the Shining and she could stab Tom Riddle to death. That was unrealistic and would likely end up with her dead, movie or no movie resemblance.

For all it was worth, it was easier to push him away and hate him than it was to admit "after he kissed me again I fell in love with him all over again." He had also started basically a genocide in the future and was absolutely morally bankrupt. Of course if she was rewriting time then all of that could be avoided. A rat ran across the room and Hermione was nonchalant throwing a cutting curse at it. She looked away from it as she continued to drink the wine.

* * *

Tom had walked into the room with his coat over his arm as he waved the lights on with his wand. However, Jean was merely lying on the sofa with another wine glass in hand.

"What on earth are you doing sitting in the dark?" he demanded.

"Oh god, I've done something to upset Master Riddle," Jean said sarcastically.

 _Ignore the boner, ignore the boner. Dammit_.

"I brought back dinner," Tom said as he walked over to the dinner table with the bag.

"And I thought Gryffindors were the ones meant to be chivalrous," she responded.

"I'd prefer the term polite. It's a universal term."

She looked over at him with more of a scowl before she went back to ignoring him. It would definitely be easier to kill her at this point with how insufferable she was being. There was an awful dead smell in his nose.

"Do you smell that?' he asked.

"I killed a rat while you were away," Jean said. "You really should consider the sanitation of a hotel."

"You killed a rat?"

"Cutting hex."

"You... don't strike me as someone who would kill for the hell of it."

Despite the fact that she had been rather open, nonverbally, earlier, he could tell that this time she was bottling up her emotions. Perhaps not the best idea but this would lead to wonderful results in observation. Well, more of an entertaining spectacle. It was actually killing him, metaphorically with his horcruxes safe, with her not liking him right now. He wasn't sure why she did. Probably some pathetic petty ass reason. He'd expected her to be more pleasant after waking up from that nap. Only she wasn't. This was nearly impossible for him to experience when everyone at Hogwarts, even those dumb Gryffindors with their pride, were able to like him. To trust him. Even after Hogwarts and he'd been at Borgin and Burkes. Why did she hate him all of a sudden?!

* * *

Hermione had picked up the paper as she saw Tom disposing the rat. It hadn't looked like Peter Pettigrew but if it had it would've given her more satisfaction. There was a tinge of guilt, mostly over how she had killed the rat instead of just dumping it outside. Of course it still probably would've fallen to death but she could give herself the illusion of being humane. The moment she started thinking about this, she started thinking about the war, and being trapped in the past with Tom Riddle. There wasn't a way for her to go back, as far as she knew, and he was rather... He had _such an act_. Bringing back dinner, what did he expect? She'd be ever so grateful that she'd give up every piece of the future that she once knew? Sure the food _was_ good but it wasn't enough to warrant her giving information.

Much like a ghost, she went to the room and slipped into a nightgown before going to bed. The thing kept scratching her in areas to where she wished she had her old clothes. What did people like about the 50's anyway? She'd had a dream, more of a nightmare. It had been the Battle of Hogwarts, only there was a small boy standing on top of a pile of rubble. He looked about seven, with thick black hair and pale skin. He looked like Tom. She was trying to run to him, and she saw Tom also running towards him. She wasn't sure why either of them were, besides the battle going on around them. Then there was a flash of green light that had hit Tom and she had woken up. Hermione was confused to the wet stuff on her face before she touched it and found that she'd been crying.

The door clicked open and she frantically went for her wand. Where was Ron?

"Relax, it's just me," Tom said. Hermione lowered her wand. "You were shouting my name."

"Just... just a bad dream," Hermione said.

He sat at the edge of the bed.

"Why do you hate me so much?" he asked.

"I'm stuck in the bloody past, and I can't get home and... I'm sorry for taking it out on you. You know, being confused and alone here and whatever," Hermione said. Not a complete lie.

"I'm sorry you feel that way."

Silence.

"You know, if I could get you home I would," Tom said. It was an obvious lie.

"And give up your means to achieve world domination?" Hermione joked.

"You could never be just a means to an end. Besides, why would I want world domination?"

She crossed her arms and tried to keep herself from rolling her eyes.

"You're doing it again," Tom said.

"What?" Hermione snapped.

"Trying to pretend like you don't care."

"You know, I _should_ pretend I don't care because at least that ways I don't have to think about the alternative."

"And what's the alternative?"

"You're doing that thing where you're pretending to care!"

"Jean..."

She wasn't sure how she'd gotten close to Tom Riddle. Or how he had moved up the bed closer to her. Because the next thing she knew was that she was kissing him and his hand was running itself over her arm. Why? The only thing she wanted to do was feel, or at least ignore the negative feelings. Tom had pulled off his shirt and he'd pinned her under him. It was passion, it was curiosity, it was dysfunctional. And there was something enthralling there that had never occurred with Ron. She smirked through the kisses as his hand tried to tame her hair. Hermione had hiked up her night gown, practically begging Tom to take her before he pulled away. He had rolled over to the side of her, trying to catch his breath.

"I should... go back to the couch," he said.

She had turned onto her side to face him.

"Just stay, Tom," Hermione said.

He had smiled at her in the moonlight. Her hand had messed up the normal perfect texture of his hair to where the waves looked more natural. She didn't mind that he had held her as they slept. She didn't mind even if his future self planned on mass murder. She didn't mind even if she was going to kill him. If she didn't and she tried to save him, someone else would become just as horrible.

/

The following morning, Hermione had slipped into the shower and when she returned to the room, found Tom gone. She shrugged and found a pair of more casual clothes to wear for the day before going back into the bathroom in an attempt to tame her hair. After using sleek easy that she'd gotten it had been able to at least tolerate ringlets. When she'd gotten out of the room, the door had shut.

Tom had walked in with two small bags in hand and a letter.

"I brought you a pastry," he said.

"Am I ever going to leave this room?" Hermione asked. She looked up at the chandeliers. "Feels like a cage now."

"It's only a cage if you make it one."

She rolled her eyes irritated. Her stomach growled and she looked at the bag that had the pastry in it. Here she was, in the middle of a... not quite an argument, and her mind was preoccupied with eating!

"You know that's besides the point I'm trying to make, right?" she scoffed.

"Well, you didn't want to go to the beach," Tom shrugged.

"Isn't there a library or something around here?"

"We're... in Nice, it's France, and you want to hole yourself up in a library?"

"Problem?"

"Fine, I think there's some book shop or something on the boardwalk that I passed by we can go to. And you should really eat that pastry."

"Urging me to eat something that I have no idea how it was prepared, god, did you put a love potion in it?"

He gave her an odd look and the small laugh Hermione had faded.

"It... it was a joke, Tom" she said.

"Don't make jokes, you're horrible at them," Tom sighed.

"Don't you _dare_ tell me what I can or cannot do."

She grabbed the bag and started eating the sweet as they walked out of the hotel. At one point she had glanced at his hand, wondering what it would be like to hold it out in public. Then again, he was halfway to becoming Lord Voldemort and she wanted to let go of the bile forming in her mouth. They had reached a bookstore, and through a back door it was actually larger on the inside. Tom had pulled a book of the shelf without looking at it before sitting in one of the plush chairs that dotted the floor. Hermione meanwhile, took her time looking through the rows of books. Some of them were in French, a few in English.

There was one in German that had a time turner like shape on the front. She found a translator towards the back referencing between the two as she sat on the window ledge of the shop. Roughly thirty minutes into it and she couldn't find any thing that was useful in going forwards in time or possible alterations in a timeline. She shut the book and waved her wand to return them to their places.

They ended up leaving at some point; Hermione had lost track of the time when she noticed Tom walking over to her. She could see the sunset over the water between the street blocks.

"So why France?" Hermione asked.

"People I need to talk to," Tom shrugged.

"That's it?"

"Yes, why?"

"You spent the morning chastising me about not wanting to go out while we were in France, and you, just decided to come here to talk to people on what? Your quest for world domination?"

"Don't be ridiculous. You shoot small first and then grow to the point where world domination is effortless."

There was a moment of silence and a strained look on Hermione's face. Her mind was racing at the possibilities he could've achieved in the future if they hadn't stopped him with his newer information. Tom had noticed and gave a small laugh.

"You don't think I'd actually do that? Did you?" he asked.

"I don't know you and you don't know me," she forced out, she did know him just not the him he was now. "So it's reasonable to believe that it's a possibility."

The alley they had stepped in on their way to the hotel ended up with three wizards blocking the path. It couldn't have just been a troll. The men were screaming at them in French with wands pointed towards them. Tom had defensively pushed her behind him as he raised his own wand. Unfortunately, one of the men had hit him with a stunner after this. Hermione looked down at him, confused at his protectiveness and disappointment in his failure to prevent himself from defending them. The men continued to scream at her as they moved in; she didn't quite feel like she was in charge of herself. She had to protect Tom, even if he didn't quite know her.

She hit one of the men with Snape's curse, one of them backed away and his companion moved closer at her. Hermione shouted levicorpus before blasting him. While she raised a shield charm, the other man hadn't been fortunate enough to avoid the deceased and ended up with blood on himself. He started to run away before Hermione casted a spell to pull him back. Her heel dug itself into his chest as he shook; he was begging for mercy. She looked over at Tom, the stunner was starting to deteriorate. Then she looked back at the man, he couldn't have been older than thirty give or take, and there was some undefinable rage coursing through her. Crucio was perhaps unwarranted.

"Jean, stop!" she heard Tom shout.

She looked back at him as she held her wand at the man.

"You can let him go," Tom said. "He's the weaker one, I doubt he'll tell anyone about us."

"Yes, as if his friend didn't try to attack you and who knows what they would've done to me! What makes you think he'll just keep quiet?" Hermione screeched.

"Jean, just let him go."

There was a, not quite feigned actually near genuine, look of concern on his face as he look at her once he had gotten up. The man was trembling at this point.

"Jean, stop, oui?" he asked.

Who was to say this man was any better than the snatchers? She moved away from him but before he was fully up she had conjured a dark smoke like tentacle around him. His eyes bulged as it choked him to death. Hermione transfigured the two remaining bodies into rags before throwing them in a nearby dumpster. Tom looked at her in a combination of terror and glee.

* * *

The walk back to the hotel had been stiffening. Tom had noticed Jean had started to loose the cold powerful demeanor she had as they walked into the cramped elevator. Her hand was gripping the handle rail to where her knuckles turned white. He hadn't seen anyone perform that level of magic in... he hated Dumbledore but he had to give the man credit where it was due. Then he opened the door and it seemed like she was more so dragging her feet closer to the bedroom before she gave up and fell onto the bed.

"Jean," he started.

Her arms had wrapped around a pillow underneath her.

"I'm a monster, aren't I?" she muttered.

"You were incredible," Tom admitted.

She shot up and glared at him as tears started to pool.

"I just... I killed three men. Three! A rat... a rat's nothing but I just. I didn't feel like _me_ ," Jean said in disbelief.

"You probably saved us," Tom said.

"Maybe, maybe not. Just, I'm not that different from you and I hate it!"

He looked at her confused. Yes, she was a brilliant witch. Keeping her alive had paid off. But it was such a bizarre statement, as if she knew him! The real him, not the facade he played to win her trust. She buried her face in the pillow and he found himself stroking her hair. He had found himself vaguely missing the bushy mess of curls she had compared to the artificial ones. Tom tried to force the thoughts out of his head.

She wiped away the tears on her face with the back of her cardigans sleeve before she looked back at him.

"Why are you even here still?" she asked. "Or better yet, not kicking me out?"

"Because you are... brilliant Jean Clearwater," Tom forced out. It wasn't forcing out at all actually but he wasn't about to admit to being authentic with this girl.

* * *

Hermione didn't mind that Tom had helped her tuck herself into bed. Or that he went over into the kitchen and brought her back a hot chocolate. It was strange that her magic felt at ease when she had performed that type of magic earlier. Tom didn't seem to care, much. He had sat on the other side of the bed as she drank from the mug. There was soft lighting in the room and the rest of the hotel room had been left dark. She'd finished the hot chocolate and put it on the nightstand before realizing she was rather warm in the outfit she had on.

She'd slipped the cardigan off and regretted it when she realized the sleeves were still short. The scar.

"What?" Tom said, looking up from his book.

"Nothing," Hermione said; it was not nothing, her voice had accidentally hitched.

"Well, what do you think about the Muggle born versus Pureblood debate?"

"The what?"

"Back at Hogwarts they let in Muggleborns despite Slytherins concerns which are far more reasonable than people give him credit for. I'm just wondering what your thoughts are on it in, being from the future."

"I can't say Pureblood's are superior. Just, they usually... at least the extremist that disagree with my statement aren't... kind to people like me."

He looked at her confused before he could see the scar on her arm from the way she had turned herself to look over at him. Mudblood. She wanted to wear it like honor, which made more sense in the future. How many people could say they were able to endure Bellatrix Lestrange's sadistic modes of torture? Only here, here it was a fifty fifty chance that she could still live. At least, next to the future Lord Voldemort.

"Okay, I mean muggleborn's aren't... generally meant to be in the wizarding world but Jean, I can't just ignore talent like yours," he said.

"That's brilliant," she sneered. Everyone like her was still meant to be scum in his eyes. Unworthy of magic as he would later put it.

/

The next couple of days were strained. He did acknowledge her but it was... more like picking at a scab. She had gone down to the lobby and the younger girl had a forced smile on as she passed Hermione her coffee and toast. Tom had briefly mentioned the night before that he had to go see someone up in Marseilles. She went back up to her room, vaguely pleased she had managed to leave the hotel room. Not that she couldn't but even brief movement was good. Most of the day she attempted to read whatever Tom had. Although _Harkfords Magical Ailments and Divine Sorcery_ bored her with it's pretentious attitude towards the dark arts and the analysis from Cassandra Trewlany about dream divination had her frustrated. Then again, this was a man that would later take a fraudulent seer's prophecy seriously enough to kill a family, and attempted murder on her best friend.

When he did get back, it had been more of a sudden apparition onto the couch. He looked gaunt and worn out. Hermione had stepped out of the bedroom surprised.

"I hate dealing with incompetent wizards," he sighed. Then he forced himself up and nearly fell over walking before Hermione had to catch him.

"Let's get you onto the bed," she suggested. "Maybe you'll feel better in the morning."

"Yes, the morning."

He dragged his feet along as she guided him to the room. She had pulled his shoes off and threw the comforter over him as he looked at her, nearly confused or high. She started to walk out the door before she heard him mumble.

"Thank you," he said.

Hermione looked back at him but he had already passed out. He looked peaceful, for not being on a murderous rampage yet. She wanted to blame the random thank you on a concussion, yes, that was a plausible explanation. Only he had frozen her out to an extent after finding out about her true blood lineage. She laid on the couch looking at the chandelier. Sure, the woman back in Paris had probably been a fraud. Most likely. She looked at her hand curiously. Could it have really been her that had killed those men? Of course it was, she knew, back in her mind, that she had known what she was doing. Then it terrified her that it could've been influenced by the so-called damnation. If she was any closer to possibly curing Tom, even though the plan was to _kill him_ , then was she the soul that was to end up taking his place? She looked back at the room where he was sleeping. Then the thought occurred to her that made her want to jump off a cliff. She was in love with him, again.


	4. Come Undone

_Authors Notes: I don't think the next chapter will be done until... January at best. I had originally intended to finish this for_ _NaNo_ blahblahblah _but that obviously didn't work out, mostly because of this chapter._ _Now here is the chapter with the obligatory 80's track chapter title. Feel free to leave a review afterwards!_

* * *

The last week Hermione's nightmares had gotten worse. There were scenes that replayed from her time in the war; her subconscious didn't care if it altered scenes of the dead, or the Horcrux hunt, or anything else that was as horrible. Then there were other times when it would be about her and Tom, _domestic_ , but it always went wrong. At points she'd see herself from the third person point of view, and the other her, the subconscious one, was so horrible of a person that Hermione lulled herself awake to avoid seeing herself that way. Because Hermione Granger was good, not some alternative Bellatrix Lestrange.

She'd usually wake up screaming and Tom would hold her until she calmed down again. Her magic sparked at her finger tips usually after these episodes. Wasn't it odd? That when she usually lost herself to the dark magic it was usually with Tom? The causation and correlation argument echoed in debate. And yet, when she lost herself in her dreams he was the one there to comfort her, to remind her that she was still her. The way he held her, she never really wanted to let go, and when it happened it felt like the most natural thing to experience.

/

They had been sitting outside on the patio; Hermione had been drinking a wine glass looking out at the ocean while Tom was reading one of his books.

"The spell I did last week, it wasn't meant to be dark," Hermione said.

"There's no such thing as dark, just power," Tom shrugged.

"No, I mean, I created that spell."

He looked over at her curious.

"My friends they... worked for the Ministry as well, Aurors," Hermione continued. "They were rounding up the last of the terrorists, couple of them were some trouble so I made a spell for the department. Meant to be used in dark alleys and kinda keep the guys bound up, running in place or whatever, until they could be properly arrested."

"And you were able to kill a man with that spell," Tom said in awe.

"I just... I'm losing myself here, Tom. And that's terrifying."

"There's just power Jean. Any sensible person knows that."

She rolled her eyes as she took another sip from her glass.

"Actually, I think you're wrong," Hermione shrugged.

"Oh? Entertain me then," Tom challenged.

"There's power, sure. Just... think of magic like a swimming pool..."

"A swimming pool?"

"Yes. Now you have lighter magic, that's the shallow end. Only the further you go, the deeper the water gets, that's the dark magic. But it's not really dark you just... it takes more effort to hold onto yourself despite it being magic overall. And the longer you're in that deep end, the harder it is to keep yourself afloat. Otherwise called sanity."

"And you thought of this how?"

"Partially you. Also this thing called Star Wars in the future, but that's, not really deep to explain just can't spoil anything."

"Well, it does sound plausible enough of a theory. But what if going to the deep end of the pool isn't bad? You utilized something that was meant to be light magic to something you'd call dark magic."

"I'd like to keep my ethics, Tom."

"But you had no regard for them the other week."

"I was defending you!"

"You know you're just admitting there's only power— just with more words than reasonable."

"You're insufferable!"

He gave a laugh and Hermione focused her attention on her glass instead. Even if things were rocky as of late, she still loved him. She wanted to believe he maybe had feelings for her too, but that was unlikely. He'd already created horcruxes, he was already depriving himself of his humanity. She didn't notice her hand had broken the wine glass, and the liquid stained her white sundress. She needed to kill him before she became anymore attached. Hermione didn't hear Tom rush over to her side.

"Jean!" He called out, it sounded like a distant echo. "Jean!"

A blank look resided on her face as she waved her wand and the stains were removed and the wine glass reassembled itself on the nearby table.

"It wouldn't kill you to stop overthinking this," he muttered.

"Just stop," Hermione said, her voice cold.

She ripped her arm away from his hand and got up. Hermione looked in the mirror as she attempted to rearrange her hair.

"And where do you think you're going!" Tom demanded.

"Out," Hermione snapped, summoning her coat from the closet.

"You haven't been sane enough to warrant going out!"

"Who are you to tell me about my sanity! The nightmares are nothing, Tom!"

With that she stormed out the door with Tom trailing behind her. The incoming patrons watched them as if they were a soap opera walking down the stairs.

"Could you stop trying to be Big Brother?" Hermione screeched.

"Pardon me for caring about you, Jean!" Tom responded.

"You're infuriating! You really don't care about anyone but yourself!"

"What if I do?"

"Then you'd be better off dead!"

Hermione didn't care about where she ended up in Nice so long as Tom was far away. Only he kept arguing with her which only angers her further. Not even anger, it was a desire for apathy. They had ended up on the beach, and Hermione had darted through the vacationing families in an attempt to loose Tom until they ended up on the far side of the beach where nobody had wanted to occupy it.

"I ran through even nudists to catch up with you, isn't that enough?" Tom asked, grasping for breath.

"I ought to just apparate and just be done with you," Hermione sighed.

"You still haven't."

"And you can't just let me go for one day."

They sat on the beach, looking out at the ocean together.

"I thought you said you hated beaches," Tom mused.

"I do," Hermione shrugged.

Hermione pulled off her shoes and waded into the water. She swayed in the wind, letting the water wash over her feet. Her eyes had closed as she basked in the sun and was surprised that Tom had joined her.

"The ends of my pants might get wet but you looked like you were having fun," he smiled.

A small wave pushed Hermione back a bit; enough for her too momentarily loose her footing. This resulted in Tom catching her before she fell into the water. The smile on his face seemed sincere and she didn't walk away from him when the tides shifted again.

* * *

They had at some point, come to holding hands on their way back to the hotel.

"You said it was, what five years since that war you were in?" Tom asked.

"Two," Jean responded.

"Have you ever… thought about talking to a doctor about it? You just… you've been becoming more distant and — "

"Tom, I'm fine."

"No, you're not."

He opened the door for them to walk into the side door of the hotel. If he could convince her that therapy was a good idea, it would be more convenient for him to get the information about the future. It wouldn't be difficult to _imperio_ a muggle therapist to relay the information to him. Screw the doctor-patient confidentiality clause.

"People generally talk to people about traumatic experiences and being so young in a war—" Tom continued.

"Tom, if I ever talked to anyone _here_ about it, it could _ruin_ the time stream," Jean hissed.

"Did you ever talk to it to anyone back in your time?"

"No, because everyone was affected by it and it's hard to talk about your own problems when everyone wants to go on about their own."

"Jean—"

"Just, stop, Tom. Please."

She dropped his hand as she opened the door to their room.

"Fine," Tom said reluctantly.

Jean looked up at him, confused admittedly. Then she stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her. Tom itched for the powder he'd hidden in a vase that Jean generally ignored. Once he heard the water running he started making lines. The amount of stress Jean had caused him, with her nightmares and her blood. He did, in a way, care about her, but Merlin he needed to get high. When was the last time he'd done so? It burned his nose at first before he got used to it again. About two and a half weeks, he remembered.

* * *

Hermione tried to tell herself that she didn't care that Tom didn't sleep with her that night. Nope, she didn't care. She absolutely did not care about not sharing the bed with Tom Riddle. She didn't care about the future lord Voldemort.

She cared.

In the morning, Tom had suggested that they go out for breakfast together instead of one of them running down for something as the routine had primarily been. Hermione wasn't sure why she was agonizing over what to wear— it was only Tom, after all. Eventually she went with a white blouse and a dark red skirt. They had been walking down the stairs together when Hermione looked up at Tom as they had been talking.

Hermione tapped her nose to Tom's confusion. "You have some… white stuff by your nose."

He tried to brush it off discreetly only this ended up causing more of a scene. It was unlikely he'd had a powdered donut and Hermione sighed, disappointed with the habit the newer Tom had developed. Unless he'd been that way when he'd been head boy as well… She tried to shove the thoughts out of her mind.

The restaurant had ended up being rather narrow, and the lighting was rather dim. The waitress had eyed Tom as she led them to their table and Hermione found herself holding his hand. She wasn't usually defensive, but god was the bitch irritating her. Tom had settled for a straight black coffee the entire time while Hermione had the French toast and bacon.

"So it ends up being your idea to go out and eat, and you don't get anything," Hermione said.

He raised his coffee cup slightly. "I did get a coffee."

Hermione had finished and went to the back where the bathroom was. Her hair wasn't that bad, and she didn't have any food left over on her mouth. She adjusted her hair slightly before she left. On her way back to the table she saw Tom flirting with the waitress. She kept stroking his arm and talking and Tom didn't seem to mind, but he wasn't rejecting the attention either. She sat across from Tom and it took another three minutes before the waitress left. Tom had a smile on his face as she walked off.

"I assume that went well," Hermione said coldly.

"I'd say so," Tom responded. "She took the coffee I had off the tab."

"Isn't that great."

The waitress came back and handed the check back to Tom before beaming as she walked off. There was a drumming noise ringing in Hermione's ears. For a moment she wanted to rip the waitress apart, limb from limb. Tom tried to hold her hand once they walked out; only she yanked her hand away before he could.

"Seriously, what the bloody hell did I do?" Tom asked irritated.

"Maybe it's because… I hate you! Not completely, but you're… I mean I should've seen this coming even though I've found that I have liked your company and I mean I know how I feel, actually no that's pretty complicated, but—"

"Jean, slow down. I can't understand a word you're saying."

"Tom, I like spending time with you. Most of the time. Just, never mind, forget about it."

"Well alright then."

The walk back had been rather quiet and Hermione felt herself pitiful for even being remotely jealous of the waitress. She had noticed Tom look at her as if he was trying to figure out a puzzle. It wasn't that she meant to go on an incoherent rant about her feelings without alluding to previously meeting Tom, but it hadn't quite helped. Besides, he had a fourth of a teaspoon of emotions. Which was even less than Ron; why did she allow herself to be with Tom again? Only she was stuck here, and it was stupid to even consider that Tom wouldn't exactly go about flirting. Her being with him in this time period the way she was was perhaps considered inappropriate too in itself.

Once they got back to the room, Hermione contemplated telling Tom she was sorry. Or at least, rephrase how she felt to be more rational. He hadn't quite looked at her and she decided to not go along with the idea.

* * *

He had gotten up before her and Hermione decided to lay in the bed for a while longer. It wasn't like it had been a massive deal breaker of an argument, but he probably wouldn't tolerate her being incoherent and emotional. Fucking fourth of a teaspoon. She had cleaned herself up and was fuming when she was left to go downstairs for breakfast since Tom had only gotten himself a plate.

/

Tom had started making various illegible notes in a note book he had as his other books were sprawled on the table around him. Hermione had laid on the bed waving her wand above her as she practiced her shellwork. A small voice in her head nipped at her to try out the darker spells. Or to see how dark she could make her spells instead. Things between them had been rather quiet once they had returned to the hotel room. How long had it been? Two, three weeks now? A ring of canaries came out of Hermione's wand.

"Isn't valentines day coming up?" She asked. She looked over at Tom; his hair was a mess over his face and there were ink splotches on his face.

"It's capitalism, Jean. Love is illusionary," he said nonchalantly.

"It doesn't mean we can't appreciate it."

"What's there to appreciate? Besides, it's not like you have a date."

She didn't quite notice how her wand had pointed the birds to attack Tom's work.

"The bloody hell!" He snapped.

"Sorry." She wasn't.

He stood up abruptly and waved his wand to organize the books onto the shelf he'd had them on.

"I just remembered I had a meeting today," Tom said.

"At the last minute, that's so you," Hermione snapped.

"What? Excuse me if I have to consult with an ex professor of the Beauxbatons."

"So you're getting a recommendation to teach down in France because Dippet wouldn't give you the Defense position."

He looked at her curiously as he picked up his coat.

"How did you know about that?" He asked. His voice was cold and Hermione, off her power trip high, remembered that this man was indeed capable of killing her.

"Just… future stuff," she forced out.

He'd dropped his coat on the chair as he approached her. If anything, he resembled a snake. She had lifted herself upright, although her body had stopped there paralyzed.

"You know, I feel as if you haven't been completely honest with me," he said. His hand grazed the side of her face.

"I've been perfectly honest for not disrupting the timeline," Hermione said.

"How did you know Dippet rejected me for the position?"

"Could you have phrased that better?"

"What?"

"Don't you have a meeting?'

"I can always push it back if you'll actually tell me something useful from the future."

"I've told you enough about the future without disrupting it."

He had leaned in to kiss her before she turned her head to his confusion.

"You have that waitress you can pull this shit with," Hermione hissed.

"Is that really why you've pushed me away today?" Tom laughed.

"I can have other reasons."

"So what are those 'other reasons'".

A number of vile names went through her head.

"With the amount of dark magic I've done, I'm surprised you haven't turned me into the French DMLE," Hermione said, trying to alter the conversation.

"Brilliance shouldn't be locked up," he said.

"And yet for all of the books you have on the dark arts, I highly doubt you're actually researching the subject because the wizarding community lacks a defined scientific department."

"Why should science be important with magic?"

"Because magic is a complex system of physics and thermodynamics and chemistry that is just accepted as an is there instead of trying to define it in a more scientific system. Hell, even the magical creature research only started making ground after Scamander published his book."

"It's not even worth a read."

"If there were more people actually interested in the research you'd have more options to read from."

"And this relates to my research of the dark arts how?"

"Because you're not really researching for the benefit of the community."

"Would you rather I have a thesis and make a publication out of it?"

"If it meant you wouldn't try to overthrow the government with the information instead, yes."

He gave a laugh and Hermione reluctantly looked back over at him. It was inhuman how perfect he was. And then she noticed that his hair had lost the bounce it had had when she saw him four years ago, her time. It wasn't as wavy anymore. Hermione wasn't sure how she ended up kissing Tom; she did know she didn't want the experience to end. He had ended up on top of her, and had at one point held her hands together leaving her helpless under him. Spearmint and inked parchment paper filled the air around him. This was pure high.

The kissing and teasing had her in a rush. It was nearly perfect. Only this time he didn't quite know her that well, so everything else fell out of sync. Her elbow had prodded him when she pulled off her bra. _I'm fine, I'm fine_ , he claimed. He had perhaps yanked her legs around his neck too fast which threw Hermione off balance momentarily. After the mediocre sex with Ron, this felt overwhelming. It was a high. At one point he had teasingly choked her, attempting to in a way dirty talk, only Hermione started laughing.

"What—" Tom started, pausing mid thrust.

"No, it's just— I started thinking about that Star Wars series again," Hermione explained, trying to calm down. "Anyway the bad guy, Darth Vader, like has this thing for force choking people. But one of my friends had dragged me to this Star Wars meeting with him and they'd come up with this gag of a joke that like if Vader did it to one of the Storm Troopers, the Storm Trooper would be like 'daddy' and Vader would just be totally confused— really it was hilarious."

"… Okay."

There was a momentary pause before Tom lowered Hermione's legs.

"It's actually pretty cute when you go on about the shit you like," he said.

Hermione had repositioned herself into an upright position as she kissed the side of his neck. "So, I didn't completely ruin the mood?"

The room had a silencing charm around it as they didn't go to bed until around one forty, more so two in the morning.

* * *

Tom had woken up with the sunrise behind him and his arm wrapped around Jean with his hand holding hers. Her hair was more of that untamed bush now. He smiled, feeling it to early he decided to fall back asleep. When he woke up again, it seemed somewhat colder. The sound of gargling furthered his consciousness. Then he noticed Jean wasn't in the bed and the bathroom door was open. He dragged himself out of bed, and pulled on the pants he'd had from the day before.

He peaked into the bathroom seeing Jean in a thin lavender night robe and a bottle of mouth wash in her hand. She spat into the sink again.

"Morning," he said.

She gave a slight scream before she calmed down and noticed him. "Oh it's just you."

"Just me, apparently. Why the mouthwash obsession?"

"Because I forgot to do it last night… because…. Yeah. And anyways mouthwash is supposed to help with reducing possible STD's or was it throat cancer? After oral uh sex. There's more studies about it in the future."

"Alright?"

She'd lifted the bottle again looking at him with direct eye contact, although this time it seemed as if she'd forgotten to spit out the liquid.

"That's… beyond weird now," Tom said, mildly disturbed.

"Why…. Did I get the mentality I was doing a shot? Oh my god," Jean said, noticing the burning mint down her throat.

"Well, I have that meeting I need to get to."

"The one you just randomly made up?"

"It's legitimate. Just… more time flexible."

"Would you mind if I went with you?"

"Really? I don't think you'd be interested. You know, boring politics and magick's. The guy's basically dead, you're better of staying here."

"I'm getting the shower first."

She closed the door in his face and he sighed. Damn this woman.

/

Half an hour later they had left the hotel and they had apparrated in an empty field at the edge of the town. There was a heavy downpour in Paris and Tom hadn't quite noticed Jean's loosened grip on his hand. He turned around to see her some meters away from him. With a sigh he conjured an umbrella and opened it over her.

"Where are we going?" She yelled over the rain.

"Just some blocks away," he said.

Jean nearly slipped on the cobblestone as they crossed the street. A few blocks later they ended up at an apartment's door that would normally be easily over looked. She had looked at him annoyed when he had noticed and she hadn't, thinking they would still be walking. He casted a drying charm on them before they walked up the stairs. The smell of smoke itched at his nose. They had walked up to the top where the numbers had chipped away to being barely existent. Tom knocked on the door.

The door had been opened by an elderly man, his grey hair was thinning and the aging lines around his mouth looked like they had come from years of smoking.

" _Professor Rousseau, I'm sorry for delaying our meeting_ ," Tom said.

The man looked up at him, one of his eyes had the habit of looking as if it was eternally stuck squinting. "Monsieur Riddle, _I had expected you sooner_." Rousseau looked over at Jean. " _I did not expect any other company. She's not a Mudblood is she_?"

He noticed Jean hold his hand tighter.

"No," Tom lied. " _Half-blood, like me. She's a very powerful and talent witch, sir_."

He let the two of them into the flat. There was one small candle lit towards the back and the rest of the apartment was rather dark and had books and whatnot strewn about. Rousseau led them over to a torn couch, what was assumed to be a couch anyway.

" _How did the book I give you work out_?" Rousseau asked.

" _I'm sorry, professor. I was hoping for more material about the dark arts from it rather than regurgitated information_ ," Tom responded.

" _Does your, partner, have any experience with the dark arts?_ "

Tom looked over at Jean.

"Could you please perform one of your spells for him?" Tom asked.

"You— you deliberately want me to do that?" Jean hissed.

"I'm trying to break ground with him, and I feel like you'll do that."

She glared at him before raising her wand. A stack of books shredded upon the impact of the red spell.

" _It causes worse damage to a physical opponent_ ," Jean said. The professor looked at her in awe.

" _I have two books on the defensive and offensive modes of Dark magic_ s _,_ " Rousseau told him quickly. " _Perhaps she will benefit from them as well_."

" _Thank you professor_."

" _I will send them to your hotel,_ Monsieur Riddle _. Hopefully when this blasted rain stops._ "

Tom gave a nod and got up with Jean. She was practically clutching his hand for dear life. They walked out, however Tom had noticed the skeptical look Rousseau had given Jean when she wasn't looking. It was silent until they got to the door. The rain was drumming before a rumble of thunder deafened him temporarily. They'd gone into an alley to disapparate.

"That was Marius Rousseau wasn't it?" Jean asked, once they were in the hotel room again.

"Yes, any problem with that?" Tom responded.

"I'm just, trying to think. Didn't he get released from his position at the Beauxbatons after he published that one book—"

"That went on about the blood purity and magical abilities from so? Yes."

"It's as vile as Mein Kampf."

"Hitler didn't know what the fuck he was doing."

"Yes, because genocide is only okay if it's for wizards."

She shrugged off her coat before putting it into the closet.

"I hated doing that spell," Jean said.

"I would like to see it done in a duel or such one day," Tom said.

"I'm not! I'm not ever going to use any dark magic for you again just because it helps you get to where you need to be! It's not me!"

Tom gave a sigh; he tried to come off as sympathetic and understanding as possible, it really just appeared that he was annoyed. His usual methods for manipulating were generally good and worked on the people he needed. With the exception of Dumbledore. But Jean had somehow managed to be the key with Rousseau. If she would actually comply with him, he could strengthen the Knights faster, and be out as Lord Voldemort sooner.

* * *

There was a knock at the door. Hermione sat up out of the bed, discarding her book before looking over. Tom had decided to order in room service. She couldn't be outright rude and ignore it. She could always leave at a different time to eat on her own accord but Tom would probably murder her for it. Her stomach made a grumbling noise and walked over to the table where Tom had set up the food. He poured her a wine and she avoided looking at him during their meal. The lentil soup wasn't horrible and the corn bread wasn't dry.

She promptly discarded her bowl and what not before going onto the balcony. The disturbing thing had been that after the usage of the dark magic earlier that day, her magic had been itching to try it again. The few times she had left her in a dissociative state which led to her feeling horrible about the results afterwards. Of course it was all her. It wasn't like there was a parasite that caused the dissociation. Perhaps if she tried to— harness the dark energy she could come to terms that it was her and cease the dissociation. But that would be going farther down the pool, down the rabbit hole, and the possibility of not keeping her own mind terrified her.

The sun had began to set in the distance. She looked over her shoulder to see Tom once again had his books out, and was in deep contemplation over one. It had been disturbing, seeing him at Rousseau's. For a good duration of the meeting his eyes had been a solid red. It had flickered out by the time they left. The reality of it was that Tom was closer to becoming Lord Voldemort, and would cease to be Tom. But you couldn't have one without the other. She wasn't sure why she decided to sit on the sofa across from Tom.

"Can I help you?" He asked, he dipped the quill in his hand into the ink pot before continuing to write.

"A fountain pen is probably less pretentious," Hermione said.

"Maybe I was aiming to be pretentious."

She cracked a small smile. Then the question she'd had resurfaced.

"Tom," she started.

"Yes?" Tom responded, not looking up.

"Did you… fuck, we both know you're not really researching the dark arts to counter it."

"Alright."

"Just… when you've… tried the darker aspects of magic, did you— ever feel like you weren't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like, it felt like something was using you like a puppet and you weren't in control until after."

"In that case, no."

Hermione wanted to kick herself. This was a man who had never had an ounce of compassion, where any empathy was an illusion, of course he'd never felt like he was not in complete control of his magic. He was meant to be pure evil.

Then an eagle flew into the room and smeared the ink Tom had finished. A note was attached to the leg of it.

"Fuck," Tom muttered before taking the note. It pecked at his hand.

Hermione summoned the owl treats that was left on one of the stands by the hotel. She gave the eagle the treat before it decided to leave. Tom had been reading the letter intensely. Then he crumbled it before standing up to summon his coat.

"I have to leave, now," Tom said.

"Is it a problem with Rousseau?" Hermione asked.

"No, Rousseau isn't the issue. The damn—"

His words faded off and Hermione grabbed her coat before chasing after him down the hall.

"What are you doing?" He hissed.

"I'm coming with you," Hermione snapped.

"No, you're not. You're going back to the room and you're going to stay there."

"Then tell me what's so bloody important!"

"No!"

"I could help!"

He'd started to apparate by the time they stepped out of the hotel and Hermione latched onto him. They'd ended up at the farm from earlier. Then Hermione fell over in pain. Her arm had been splinched near the shoulder. Left one, which was a relief but not any more reassuring. Then she felt Tom kneel over next to her.

"It doesn't look bad but not any—" he started. The sound of the barn animals screaming disrupted them.

He helped her up and they ran to the house. The girl ran over to unlock it. She was speaking animatedly and Hermione couldn't quite comprehend her. The other girl saw Hermione's hand holding her arm with the blood from the splinch seeping through, and ran over to a cupboard crabbing a small bottle. Tom had given the girl a stern look before she hesitantly passed the bottle over to him.

"It's going to hurt for a moment," Tom said.

"I don't care! Just do it," Hermione screeched.

The ointment wasn't pleasant but her arm had healed to an extent.

"The snake—" the farm girl forced out in broken English. "S'in the back. Papa—"

"I'm sorry," Tom said.

He ran out the back into the barn.

" _What's in the barn_?" Hermione asked. Her words were a little slow but fairly accurate with the prounciation.

" _A snake. Papa didn't come out this time after checking on it_ ," the girl said. " _Monsieur, he'd just… given us an egg to put with the chickens_."

A basilisk. He had tried to hatch another basilisk.

" _Do you have anything goblin made_?" Hermione asked, she'd probably tripped over herself but she didn't care.

The girl ran upstairs and Hermione looked at the backdoor. How long could Tom last with it? Then the girl showed up with a dagger.

" _It was my mother's wedding gift_ ," the girl said.

" _Thank you_ ," Hermione said, she looked at the blade and saw the handle had an intricate design on it. If the sword of Gryffindor had been able to kill the first one, this one should be able to do. " _Please don't follow me_."

The girl nodded and Hermione walked out after Tom. Her arm was still in pain but the adrenaline rush numbed it. When she walked in, Tom was focused not the snake, carefully avoiding eye contact as he hissed. It sounded more like elongated gargling. The snake wasn't looking at her thankfully. He looked irritated with the snake. Then she noticed the dead farm animals and a body. The farmer presumably.

"Jean, go back," Tom said, breaking his concentration with the basilisk. "He's… not as tame as Morgan."

"Then get out!" Hermione retorted.

She closed her eyes when it looked like the basilisk was about to turn around. Then she heard Tom making the hiss-gargle again and the basilisk gave a violent hiss of its own.

"JEAN RUN!" He shouted.

She started around the barn; her arm felt inflamed again as she held the dagger with her. When she came around the back, the basilisk then avoided her for Tom. The white scales around its neck fanned. Tom was trying his best to avoid looking as it as he started trying to communicate with it again. Then it started winding itself around Tom as it hissed. It gave a small laugh and Hermione noticed how long the basilisk was. Then she heard the girl barge in. Tom fell over as the snake approached its new target.

Hermione looked between Tom and the girl. She hated how she'd been so fickle in being jealous of the other girl the first time she'd seen her talking with Tom. Now she had to choose between taking the chance of killing the basilisk with the other girls sacrifice, or try to leave with Tom and have the basilisk roam around the countryside. He looked at her, as if he expected her to help him. Instead, she ran to the mangled body of the girl that was being devoured by the basilisk. She pushed the dagger through its head, and the basilisk gave a small yell before it went limp. Pulling the dagger out had been harder although the slits had been half way closed which had been a relief to avoid being rendered dead.

She dropped the blade at the entrance of the barn before walking over to Tom.

"Why did you do it?" She asked, kneeling over.

"I told them to keep me updated," Tom said. "I didn't think… I didn't think it would attack them."

"It was a bloody basilisk!"

"Salazar, my sides are killing me."

"C'mon, we need to go back."

"It's my fault, Jean. If I hadn't been so careless, if the silly old man had made sure the bag over it's head never ripped, or—"

"Tom, I get that you're— upset over the loss of what was… meant to be a pet snake, but we can't do anything about it now."

She stood up and conjured a sheath for the dagger out of some nearby straw before she went back over to Tom. There was basilisk venom in it now, which meant being closer to somewhat restoring Tom's soul. They apparated back to the hotel and Tom didn't question the newfound blade. When they got back, Hermione dropped the dagger into her bag. The next time that Tom went out would be when she destroyed the horcrux.

/

Upon going to bed, Hermione faced herself away from Tom in the bed. It would be somewhat ridiculous to kick him out of it since he was still somewhat recovering from the basilisks python hold. They wouldn't have had to have worried about it if he hadn't been fixated on it to begin with. She wondered how that event had turned out in her own timeline. She obviously wasn't here although Tom had had that egg before she met him. Which meant he still would've given the egg to the farmer and his daughter. However, he didn't have a second basilisk. Which made it likely he hadn't gotten there in time, or the basilisk had left the farm and slithered into a river, or possibly the Mediterranean. She didn't notice herself loosing consciousness before falling into a sleep.

The dream was strange. The images were blurry but not unwelcoming. Then Hermione saw herself in the hotel rooms full length mirror. Her image shifted where her hair was darker and her clothes weren't hers. That was when she noticed that the reflection wasn't of her, but of Bellatrix Lestrange. At that moment she woke up. There wasn't a jerk, or a sensation of crying. Just up. Then she noticed she was lying on her side and her hand was holding Tom's.

She flinched as she moved away; the arm injury from the day before decided to inflame again. The throbbing continued until she decided to use the pool like bathtub in the bathroom. Eventually she found herself relaxing— and irritated that the inflaming had gone down right before she got into the water. She eventually summoned a towel to dry off. Once she had walked out she saw Tom reclining on the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee. He had on those ridiculous light green pants on again, although this time without the shirt. He wasn't perfectly sculpted she knew that, but he did have a flattering build. She looked away to avoid looking as if she was gawking at him.

"I was thinking about what you said yesterday," Tom said. "About the dissociation from dark magic."

"Oh," was all Hermione could force out.

"It occurred to me that maybe we should… try to tap into it. Not completely— but just enough to where it doesn't drain you."

"Tom, I really don't think that's a good idea."

"There's been a number of wizards in my research that haven't gone completely dark. Just morally questionable and I really think this might help."

Her lips pursed together and she turned out of the room and went to find something to lounge in. She didn't bother trying to put on makeup or fixing her hair; at this point it was in its normal bushy state. When she walked back out Tom passed her a cup of coffee for herself. Her hand was shaking as she accepted the cup. It had been, maybe a little over a month of spending consistent time— damn the room of requirement which started out this predicament— with him that she wanted to let down her guard, and maybe harness dark magic. On the morally right side of the argument, she wanted to keep up her defenses, and not completely trust Tom since the only reason he would offer to help would be to further his own agenda. Even in her own time, and the practicing of the dark arts, she'd managed to restrain herself. However, this had led to her crucio-ing Tom…

"Fine, we'll practice, but you need to pull me back if I loose me," Hermione said.

A smile formed on his thin lips and Hermione couldn't help but fall in love with it. She was the one that was going to end up in his place if he healed.

"Brilliant," Tom said, trying to hide his confusion.

She leaned next to him as she drank her own coffee. They'd glance at each other every once in a while. Then look away once the other did. During this interlude, Hermione considered the fact that she would like to see Tom with greying hair. The idea of growing old with him… well that was impossible. He would bald without a proper nose if he continued on his path to becoming Lord Voldemort.

"Perhaps about noon?" He said, breaking the silence.

"Why not," Hermione shrugged.

"Well because—"

"It's future slang, Tom."

"Oh."

They'd ended up putting down their coffees and Hermione had noticed they were standing closer together at this point. Her hand traced itself over his before he trapped her on the counter. She had inched her face closer to his and he had leaned down to kiss her. Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. His hand hiked up her dress and she shivered. She could feel his smile as his hand moved itself closer to tease her. He'd lowered his head as he pulled the straps of her dress down. Frustrated, Hermione pulled the dress off of herself with Tom's eager assistance.

"Someone's in a rush," Tom smirked.

"Just move us to the bed already Tom," Hermione forced out.

/

It was about three when they actually got around to the lessons. The first hour or two, Hermione had felt fine. To an extent. They'd started out with the lighter aspects of dark magic, however as they progressed into darker spells, Hermione found herself spacing out in brief flashes.

"Tom, I need a break," Hermione said.

"What are you talking about? You're in more control at this point over it, I don't see why we should—"Tom responded.

"I'm serious. If I go any longer— I don't… "

"Alright."

She laid down on the couch and Tom passed her a blanket. Hermione hated how she was confused by Tom's kindness. He sat on the one across from her with a notebook in his hand. Hermione could've sworn she'd seen that red glint in his eyes again.

"I'm actually beginning to theorize your problem with the dark arts is because of it's emotional needs," Tom said.

"What sort of bullshit is that?" Hermione hissed.

"This is actually plausible, Jean. Divination needs the emotional openness to work, and a patronus needs a good happy memory. Now, look at the Unforgivables. Unlike light magic, they require the polar opposite. Which is some level of sadism and hate."

"So you want me to reverse the polarity of the neutron flow in my magic?"

"What.. you can't reverse polarity... what the hell, Jean?"

"Sorry, future reference. But you're saying I need to invert whatever emotions are in my magic to sync with the dark arts?"

"Essentially."

A headache started to pound itself in Hermione's head.

"Tom, maybe I should just leave it," she suggested. "It's like trying to tell me doing multiple drugs are good when trying to build up a tolerance all at one time."

"If we space out the lessons..." Tom started.

"Please, I don't want to loose my sanity over it."

He gave a small nod. The headache was becoming unbearable at this point. Hermione gave a small squeak when she thought she saw Bellatrix on the other end of the couch. She looked over at Tom and felt sorry for herself. Her mouth was frozen. _Just notice for once. H_ _elp me, dear god even save me Tom, I don't know how much longer I'll be me with this_ ; the words itched to be spoken. He must have noticed.

"Are you alright, Jean?" he asked concerned.

She slid onto the pillow, wanting the headache to go away. It must have been concerning to witness since he rushed over to her side and tried to comfort her. This was wrong, he wasn't _supposed_ to care. Her hand wrapped itself around his wrist and her nails dug into his skin; a yelp escaped his lips. Hermione found her wand and pointed it under his chin.

"Jean, Jean calm down," he said.

"Crucio," she said softly.

He fell over screaming and Hermione stood up, the headache wasn't as prominent now. She didn't care that she repeated the spell. How had she started to resent him for her leaving with him? Why did she resent him for not knowing her when it was her doing? But he was the thing that was going to kill innocents in years to come. A smile sneaked itself on to her lips.

Before she could cast it again she found her lips faltering. Tom was screaming in agony. The man she loved was being tortured at her hand. It felt like someone had strangled her as well at this realization. How similar this was to all those years ago in her future. She knelt down next to him, terrified at the prospect of destroying his mind. His mind was what she loved about him.

"Tom," she smiled when he'd regained himself enough to look at her.

Her eyes widened in shock as he strangled her. He'd moved himself on top of her as his grip tightened and she tried to scratch at his hands.

"Hello Hermione," he smiled. His eyes flickered red for a moment.


	5. Paradise Lost

The cruciatius Jean— no, Hermione— had used had opened the dam that fractured his memory. She was perhaps one of the most powerful people he knew. Back in his seventh year and now. And she dared to deny him that knowledge. Now she was powerless under him, and he smiled as her hand itched for her wand. That however, made it an unfair fight so he held his wand at her as tried to find her wand before standing back up.

"I'm amazed as to how long you've kept yourself from me," Tom gloated.

"Tom, put the wand down," she said; there was hesitation in her voice.

"It makes it easier on me to not have to hide my plans from you anymore, but darling you could've saved us so much time."

Hermione's hand was shaking as she raised her wand.

"Tom, please— please don't go down this path," she pleaded.

"Voldemort _is_ my past, present and future," Tom said.

"No, it doesn't have to be."

"What's the worst that can happen? A baby kills me?"

She looked off to the side uneasily, as if to hide something. Tom relaxed his shoulders as he dropped his wand.

"You wouldn't have obliviated me if you loved me now, Hermione," he sighed.

"That hardly sounds not abusive," she said.

"And you torturing me under the cruciatius, twice I should mention, doesn't count. Apparently."

"In neither incident was I— for lack of a better term, conscious. But you know what Tom?"

"Fine, what Hermione?"

"That time you used the cruciatus on me…"

"You were irritating."

"Hardly an argument. No, what I didn't tell you was that after that— I lost your child."

"You're being ridiculous."

"I know I was because I did a pregnancy spell once I suspected it."

"So you're just paranoid because we were like rabbits back then."

He watched her grip on her wand tighten in a manner of nonchalance. Was she really going to get this defensive over a teenage delusion of being pregnant? Then again, he couldn't remember them using any method of protection at the time. Not that he cared. She was still a mud blood. He hated that the word tasted… bitter on his tongue. In his head technically.

"I was. And the cruciatus you used on me, I lost the damned —" she was trying to keep her voice from breaking, "I knew I was in the wrong torturing you. But _you_ didn't care so long as you got what you wanted. Just— you took my baby from me, Tom."

"Honestly you have better luck dropping the subject and your wand at this point Hermione," Tom sighed. Was she naturally this irritating or was it the old memories influence?

Hermione focused her wand at him before dropping it with a shaky breath. She sat on the couch defeated. Tom slid onto it next to her, his finger twirled a lock of her hair.

"So, are you going to stay with me, and help me rule the world now?" He asked. "You can't go home now, you know."

"Fine," Hermione said with a shaky breath.

* * *

She didn't face him when they went to bed together. She didn't get up with him. She ignored the food he brought up for her. He was as good as gone now. Perhaps staying in bed wasn't the best of ideas. It was a paradox of an idea.

"I have to leave," Tom said.

"Fine! Go if you need to!" Hermione snapped.

"As you wish."

She wanted to yell at him about the Princess Bride, but the movie wouldn't come out for years and she'd forgotten when the book had even come out. It would be useless to mention it. Hermione attempted to keep herself sane and decided she might as well write. The idea boiled down to theory's and how magic and science were possibly related; it really came from that banter she'd had with Tom, might as well go on about it. She looked around Tom's notebooks to see if any were empty. There was a small black one that had the pages empty.

She dipped a quill in ink before writing the date. Only the date slid off the paper before it resurfaced as May 3, 1944. The diary. Tom was still gone and she ran over to her bag. The dagger was still in it and she went back to the diary on the table. A younger Tom Riddle surfaced from the diary in orange sparks. He had looked down at her, about to say something. This was a horcrux; this wasn't her Tom. The dagger pierced the pages of the diary and the Horcrux Tom started to disintegrate, angry. She dug it into its pages as the ink started to bleed out. About three times before it was dead; she could hear Tom screaming in her ears.

Her heart started racing with anxiety. Would Tom notice if his horcrux was destroyed since he had fewer of them this time around? She went back to the bag— internally scolding herself for not bringing it to the table with her to begin with— before she ripped open the box and pulled out the ring. She put it on the table and it it over with the dagger. Tom would probably kill her when he found out. At least there'd be less horcruxes— theoretically.

She transfigured a napkin into a bag and put the broken horcruxes into it before throwing it into the water. There was less pollution in this era. Actually she'd probably be adding to it just now but minor qualms for saving the world. She fell onto the bed. Could she really kill Tom if it came to that? If it came to that she'd have to. Why had she let herself even go through the mirror to begin with? If she would've been more focused on Harry she wouldn't have to worry about Tom. Instead she'd have to worry about going to Star Wars fan meetings with Harry and the wedding with Ron, and about the murder case, and everything in her life that was so mundanely _normal_. Her heart ached for that mundane life where everything made sense, and she could check everything in little boxes of how things went right, and there was a routine because they didn't have to worry about Voldemort anymore.

A week passed and Tom still hadn't come back. Hermione was growing anxious. A newspaper was dropped off at the front of the hotel door. The front page mentioned that Rousseau had died of a heart attack recently; he'd apparently still been beloved by former students that went into the ministry and being an influential writer, the part about where he was let go by the Beauxbatons was ignored. She looked over at the books Rousseau had sent before his untimely death. Another couple of days passed before Hermione heard the door open.

She held her wand out of defense. It hadn't opened all the way before she heard that familiar voice.

"I can assure you Madam Tyler, I am proposing to that lovely woman I've been staying with. It was supposed to be a surprise preparation for it," Tom said.

"She'd be a muggle to not say yes," the woman, Madam Tyler, chuckled with a faulty French accent.

The door opened and Tom looked over at her. She looked down at the silk nighty she had changed into— as an attempt to refreshen herself and get out of her depressed period— that was rather short by the times standards despite the robe that hung over it loosely.

"So I hear you planned on proposing," Hermione said, her voice had an airy quality to it.

"Actually yes," Tom said. "I figured we'd almost overstayed our welcome at the hotel and Black was… well, he has a chateau in Northern France that his family never uses anymore and I offered to take it off his hands. I planned on it being an engagement present."

"And what made you think I would say yes?"

"Because you love me."

 _Because you love me_ ; the words echoed into her ears until they became grating. Pent up anger threatened to spill out, it wasn't that she meant to let it out— it just did.

"How dare you use my words against me! You've been gone for two fucking weeks and you think it's just fine to come back and I have to overhear a bloody plan about you proposing?" Hermione screamed. "It's not, I don't even know who you are anymore because you're not even you!"

"Love, just calm down," Tom said coldly.

"I will not bloody calm down because you tell me to! I'm tired, Tom. I've done what I could for you but all you do is drain me and you'll never change! I mean, you got your memories back but the moment you did you thought it would be _amusing_ to put me in a choke hold basically. What part of that is even normal, not normal, healthy for a relationship!"

"I think you're just overthinking everything."

"I'm overthinking! Tom, I'm saying my feelings and— yes, I know it's irrational, but sometimes things aren't always logical!"

"Hermione—"

"Please, just stop with the plans of taking over England, or whatever. Just… just be Tom."

He sighed before sitting on the couch. Then he looked over at the notebook that was still spread over the coffee table and there were dried flecks of ink around it.

"Was this you?" He asked.

"Yes," Hermione said, trying to even her tone.

"Magic and science, interesting."

"I was thinking about using a typewriter. Never, really used one in my time. Sure, it's for aesthetic, initially, but it would be a lot easier to type it out that way opposed to getting carpal tunnel."

"You're a brilliant witch you know."

She stood away with him with her arms crossed. If she let herself let go— she would run into his arms and agree to his (strategic) marriage proposal. It would probably make her look less of a mistress— which was a ridiculous concept, but the time period— but it wouldn't have love on his part. Not genuine love if anything.

"Hermione, I do love you," he said, looking up at her.

"Okay," she said flatly.

"Why don't you believe me?"

"You had to ask that."

She turned into the bedroom and started repacking her things and grabbed an outfit to change into in the bathroom. Hermione looked in the mirror and added light make up but it was hopeless to adjust her hair when the Sleak easy had ran out. She walked out and accioed her book back.

"Where are you going?" Tom demanded.

"I'm leaving," Hermione said. "I can't… I can't change the path you're on and… it's better if I just go."

"We can work on this."

"No, we can't."

"You can't even wear trousers in public!"

"If I can get them, I will damn well wear them."

Tom had stood up and Hermione's only relief was that she'd put her suitcase into the bottomless bag. There was something off— dark— about him as he walked closer to her. His hair was practically flat at this point. There was a red glint in his eye as he drew closer to her.

"I finally have you again, with my memories, can you really fault me for wanting to keep you?" He asked, his hand caressing the side of her face. Merlin, she wanted to stay that way forever.

"No," Hermione said, trying to pull herself out of her daydreams. "I'm not yours to keep."

"And why not?"

"I have a fiancé _that isn't you_."

"In your past, my future. But you can't go back to that."

"I know, you're probably better. But he's the better person."

Hermione closed her eyes, trying to focus on her breathing. She could feel that dark energy around Tom threatening to consume her too. He'd take everything away from everyone. He'd loose his sanity in his quest for immortality and control. She had to save everyone from that. Because right now, he didn't care about her. He was in love with the _idea_ of her, not her as herself. She leveled her wand at his heart as she pulled back from him.

"Avada Kadavra," she said.

The green light was bright and it hit him square in the chest, throwing him back. She didn't quite regret it despite her heart clenching itself. Out of curiosity she walked closer to him. Then he started laughing. He… he wasn't dead. Then she saw the locket had broken out of the jacket and was still buzzing with a green light.

"The horcrux," her voice faltered.

"How did you know?" He asked.

"Because I killed your other ones."

"You—"

"I tried to save you, Tom. I don't know why you're the only person I've ever truly loved but I did it to save you. To save everyone. And if you're really set on this path, then I'm truly never coming back."

"How dare you try to leave me!"

He was still trying to pick himself up and his hand kept slipping on his grip on the couch. She summoned the dagger out of her bag before throwing it at his feet.

"Be a better person, Tom," she said. Hermione adjusted her hat before walking out of the room, not bothering to care if it closed all the way behind her. Anxiously, she kept looking back to see if he would follow her, but he didn't. She didn't know why it bothered her.

Hermione took a train North and decided to go back to England. Perhaps she could try to work with Dumbledore for a while; prepare for vanquishing Tom once and for all. Her magic was still cackling, her mind poisoning her to try dark magic again, just for kicks. There wasn't anything wrong with doing things for kicks. But she had to kick the habit. She ended up in Diagon Alley; she'd ran out of her contraceptive potion a while before Tom came back to where she ended up in an apothecary. She'd been so focused on getting what she needed she didn't really care what shop she'd ended up in. There wasn't any contraceptives but she had found an updated bottle of sleakeazy.

"With hair like that, I would assume you'd probably use that," a voice said.

Hermione jumped and looked over. He looked like Harry; tall, dark hair, although his was more tidy and he was much more pale. But Merlin, that voice was— heavenly.

"Charlus Potter," he said.

"Jean… Jean Clearwater," she forced out.

"Did you go to Hogwarts by any chance?"

"No, homeschooled actually. In France."

"Interesting."

She was kicking herself internally. This was Harry's grandfather, she ought to not be flirting with him to not disturb the time stream but he was so beautiful…

"Oi! Stop harassing my customers!" A Scottish like accent rang out.

The two looked over to where the voice came from. The other man looked like Charlus, just far more tanned and his hair was messy with glasses tilted sideways.

"Fleamont," Charlus sighed. The man, Fleamont, walked over to the two of them.

"I certainly don't need your help in my shop since all you do is dally all day," Fleamont said. "And I don't think Dorea would appreciate you flirting about."

"He's such a traditionalist," Charlus smirked, looking at Hermione.

"Grow up, Charlus. You're what? Twenty six? Maybe start acting like an adult," Fleamont hissed.

"I'm sorry that you got a decent start up on a lousy potion while I'm a respected member of the wizarding community being an intern with the Wizagamont," Charlus scoffed. "You're barely anything at what, a hundred?"

"I will kindly ask you to leave before I tell your mother," Fleamont said.

"You wouldn't," Charlus said, his eyes darted around the room anxiously. He'd try to put his hand in the cookie jar, and was let go frequently she assumed, only this time it appeared as if he would actually face the consequences of his actions.

"Is he giving you any problems?" Fleamont asked Hermione.

"No?" She answered hesitantly.

"Charlus," Fleamont said slowly.

Charlus sneered at Fleamont before walking out of the door.

"Fleamont Potter," he said, turning his attention towards her. "My cousin's never managed to quite grow up. But is there anything I can help you with?"

"Actually, I was wondering if you had any sort of… contraceptive potion? Or guide on one?" Hermione asked. "I usually use them to help with my… time of the month but I ran out of the potion I had."

"Oh. I think I have one in the back. Never had any bad responses on it but it's a slightly newer formula."

"Great. I'll take a bottle."

They walked over to the back and Hermione could hardly see over the shelves of potions and related materials. He sped ahead and came back with a small purple vial.

"Take a small dosage every two weeks and you should be fine," he said.

"Thank you," Hermione said.

"Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Not quite I'm afraid. I'm just moving back from France and I'm still figuring out where to go from here."

"I know this might sound strange, but if you need a part time job or anything I'm more than willing to offer you a position. I need to work on sleakeasy a little more often. And my wife probably wouldn't mind if you lodged with us until you can find your own place."

"Are you… are you sure? It's just… such a generous offer I wouldn't' want to—"

"Jean, I'm standing by my offer."

She looked at him, sure that her eyes had gone wider than Luna's. Is this how Sirius had felt when the Potter's had offered to let him stay with them.

"I... I suppose so," she forced out. "Thank you so much Mister Potter."

"Fleamont," he said, a tint of chastising in his voice. "Dobby!"

A crack ripped through the room and a small house elf appeared. He wasn't wearing complete rags, and there were less lines and wrinkles in the elves skin, and the eyes were just as bulbous as she remembered, however the green was much more brighter.

"Jean, this is the Potter house elf, Dobby," Fleamont beamed.

Her hands went to cover her mouth. She had already felt her eyes watering and was afraid she'd break out crying completely. Of course she was in the past, of course Dobby would still be alive.

"Is missus alright?" the house elf asked concerned.

"Yes, thank you Dobby," Hermione forced out.

"He's really just an inheritance from Euphemia's family, so not quite Potter but he's extremely helpful," Fleamont said.

"Master Potter and his missus are very kind to Dobby," Dobby beamed.

Hermione looked at Dobby curiously. It was strange, knowing that Harry's grandparent's had owned a house elf. But he wasn't shuddery like Harry described in their second year. Merlin, that felt like an eternity ago. So what had made this house elf, whom apparently admired his masters, want to be free? Well, he had somehow ended up under the authority of the Malfoy's. Although this did give some insight into why he apparently liked Harry. But he had still insisted on being free. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Fleamont pressed.

"Yes, I'm sure," Hermione smiled, trying to shrug it off.

"Well, Dobby will help explain to Euphemia that you'll be staying with us until you can get on your own feet, and will be helping me around the shop. I don't think she'll mind that much. Half the time she brings in a fawn trying to heal it."

"Again, thank you so much."

Fleamont gave a small nod and she held onto Dobby's hand as he disapparated them.

* * *

Tom had checked out of the hotel and headed up to the Black Chateau. He walked in, looking around before deciding he'd stay in the east wing. The property was after all, in his hands. Under his name. He was relieved they'd left the furniture, this meant he wouldn't have to go out for his own for the place. He'd turned one of the drawing rooms into a lab of sorts. Or at least, he had the basic outline of how it would come into fruition. He'd been hungry and went into the nearby village, to his relief he found it magical, for food and a couple of spare materials.

He sat alone at the dinning table, eating a take out Shepards pie. Most of the lights were out in area's he wasn't using. It almost made him feel lonely. No, he wasn't lonely. He was normally fine on his own. That is until Hermione Granger resurfaced in his life and had him reconsider being on his own. Not completely. But having an initiative to go back to a place instead of just leaving because it wasn't Hogwarts, was nice. He'd waved his wand to clean up before he left and found himself in a piano room.

The stereotype that people with long fingers could play piano flawlessly was a lie. A stereotype. Back at that damned orphanage, Mrs. Cole had briefly tried to get him into piano lessons. Of course he tripped over his fingers and he was an awful player. He threw minor cutting spells at the piano, however this became repetitive and the piano crushed under itself. Then he didn't care about magic. No. He was angry at that damned Granger girl for making him contemplate emotions. Feelings. Letting his guard down, even if the walls had still been up.

He summoned a knife and tore the curtains into shreds. He then started to attack the love seat with the knife. A delirious smile found itself on his face as he imagined the couch to be Hermione's body. Tom leaned on the side of the couch when he found himself drained from the rampage. A little bit more calm admittedly. But he was still angry with her. He'd actually considered letting her into his life, and sure, he sucked with the romantic stuff other people expected and did well, but that didn't mean she had to run out on him. He contemplated going after her. Maybe he'd kill her as to keep his secret, well, many of them. Most of which were detrimental towards his reputation.

Not that he cared about his reputation. He wasn't going to go back to England as Tom Riddle. What he needed to do was restart the horcruxes. Or at least find suitable alternatives for the two Hermione had destroyed. Hermione, Hermione, why couldn't her damned name leave him again! And then it occurred to him that he did miss her. He missed the way they'd sleep together in Nice. He missed her smile. Even the times when she was volatile and her emotions went haywire and she'd scream at him for irrational reasons. He missed her busy hair. He felt something wet on his face.

Tom Riddle did most certainly not miss Hermione Granger. The wet stuff didn't stop. He knew who he was, who he was going to be, it was irrational to try to change, to be legitimately _good_ for a girl. A girl of all people! Who had time for romance in this economy! But this was supposed to be their place. She was supposed to love him and not run off this time.

* * *

Hermione had found herself at home with Fleamont and Euphemia, and Dobby. Potter Manor was large but it never felt empty. Euphemia, as she found, had gone to school in America at Truevent School of Witchcraft; it was a smaller school compared to Ilvermony and was in Virginia. Her parents had moved over there when she was six over family disputes. It had been some years after she graduated that she moved back to the United Kingdom and met Fleamont.

Over the next couple of months, a nice routine had developed. Dobby would apparate her and Fleamont to the shop early in the morning before going back. Hermione would work on her book if the shop wasn't too horribly busy and she'd sit at the cash register. Fleamont had started spending more time in the back working on elixirs and sleak easy. Charlus had stopped showing up as often. Then they'd get back home and she'd help Euphemia and Dobby prepare dinner. Sometimes it would be just her and Euphemia.

Then twice a month on weekends she would go to Hogwarts to talk with Dumbledore. They discussed various plans of how to deal with the potential threat of Voldemort in the future. Hermione hated how apparent her feelings for Tom were. It wasn't that she meant to care about him, or be disappointed that he was still a foul creature, but it just decided to write itself across her face. Dumbledore however, didn't pester her about it too much because the disappointment towards Tom Riddle's actions were just as apparent for him. The talks weren't for very long, or they didn't feel very long, because they discussed various subjects in between that related to the circumstances. Dumbledore had suggested she write a diary of certain events of the future despite the basics. Anything she knew. She advised against this incase it ever fell into the wrong hands, trusting that telling Dumbledore would be enough.

Hermione nearly ran into a younger McGonagall one evening. She'd become clammy and was surprised at how young her future professor looked. To avoid being seen, in an effort to keep the time stream as close as possible to the original, she'd had Dobby disparate her home when this happened.

It was one of the nights that she'd come back from Hogwarts, and was currently in one of the spare drawing rooms working on the book. It was currently at two hundred pages, she didn't care to work out the page count. Writing hadn't necessarily been an idea that would occupy her future, but in order to help the wizarding world move forward she had to start somewhere. Working in the DMLE had been... slow. But at the time she was still coping with the war.

She still was, technically. The only difference was that the nightmares had been replaced by a possibly murderous child, only because Tom somehow died whenever the child appeared, and people here didn't talk about... well they talked about war. Only it hadn't been the war about Voldemort, how could they know about that? The comments usually ranged from about the second world war, and the war with Grindewald, and how it had affected the economy and what not. Of course it had been dreadfully lonely only being with Tom for the first half of the year. That had been her fault, admittedly. She had attempted to end him, or at least try to convince him to change his path, only he was now aware that she knew about the horcruxes. And although the clock inside her head ticked, for the next time she'd see Tom, if hopefully never, because he'd likely be after blood. Revenge. So she had to take these softer moments in pleasure otherwise she'd drive herself mad with paranoia. Perhaps that's why she was obsessive over her book. But here, it wasn't home, but it was a home in a barrage of time displacement.

She heard a knock and looked up. Fleamont walked, no, strutted, into the study.

"You're still working on your book?" he asked.

"I'm so close to working out the theorem on..." Hermione started.

"It's going on one am. You should go to bed and finish that up in the morning."

"Then how are you still up?"

"Pepper up. It'll wear off in a bit, I was finishing up a batch of steak easy."

She sighed and put her quill away before finding she could barely drag her feet down the hallway up the stairs. As she pulled the comforter over herself in her room, which she contemplated the possibility of it being Sirius' later on, or James', she thought about her chats with Fleamont. Especially tonight. She didn't notice the tears right away. Her mind went back to thinking about how before Harry had shown up at Grimmauld Place, when she was up late and sat in the kitchen with tea, Remus on the days he was there would usually join her. They'd talk about whatever academic subject was on her mind, maybe politics although Hermione had a distaste for the corruptness of it, and then he would offer to talk about whatever was bothering her. It was usually how they had to leave Harry out of the loop for the longest of time, among other things. For a while she thought she'd had a crush on Remus, but that was impressionably silly. When she analyzed her feelings it made more sense that she did think of him as a paternal figure in the wizarding world.

Her tears started pouring more heavily. After the Death Eaters invasion at the Quidditch tournament her fourth year, she had briefly returned home. Ron and Harry never really questioned why she never went home at breaks after that year. When she said she'd obliviated her parents, they'd been quick to assume it was before seventh year. No, it had been after that attack; knowing they'd be concerned about her in the wizarding world and Voldemort, the best option had been to send them to Australia. And knowing she had essentially killed her parents, even partly, the thought never left her mind. Of course it made sense to be attached to Remus in a familial bond than anything else because at the time, she'd been without her parents for a year. And the years after that too.

She had been ripped from her life into this one. And where had that gotten her? Stuck with Tom Riddle remembering her, because unlike her parents she'd been sloppy and selfish with him, despite knowing who he was, and then growing attached to Euphemia and Fleamont when she knew how they'd end up. Not that it was a terrible fate, no. Even if she felt at home here, in this time, it felt so... Disorienting.

/

It had been a slow day in the shop. Similar to her first time walking into it. She sat behind the counter, eyeing the few customers milling about. They left as they did and Hermione began to edit the last couple of papers from the night before. Hardly coherent, but she scratched out phrases before trying to rewrite them. Then the bell on the door rang and she looked up. Tom.

* * *

He'd apparently, been in his head too long. The Black Chateau, he was working on a name of his own for it, was useful but it was closer to driving him mad. He'd spent more time analyzing Hufflepuffs cup to see if any of it's properties would be useful to replicate. It had to an extent. He'd decided he'd try to use a potion to protect the locket. It irritated him how Hermione had been able to get through the previous wards and defenses of his other Horcruxes. This one, not that he meant to be a sadistic fuck, would insure that nobody could get out with his horcrux. He'd decided to go to the cave he'd been to as a child as the hiding place. Perhaps he'd create inferi as another precaution.

Charlus Potter had been arrogant back at Hogwarts. By the time Tom was calculating his plans for becoming Voldemort, the other boy had already been on the verge of graduating. Why bother with an idealist teenager? Ravenclaw's were suitable allies but Charlus was somehow more pompous than a Gryffindor. He had, however, managed to hear Charlus complain about his talented older cousin who had made a suitable fortune off some potion. He'd been walking Diagon Alley and had casted an umbrella charm once it started to rain. It wasn't too incredibly hard to find the senior Potter's apothecary shop. Surely there had to be useful in the place.

And he'd walked in and saw Hermione sitting behind the counter; her nose was scrunched up as she scribbled over a paper. Her hair wasn't as bushy as the last time he recalled it. And then she'd looked up and a look of fear paralyzed her face. He'd only kill her if necessary or fucked up his plans further. He'd started walking through the isles, regular potions, some ingredients, and then he saw a potion that was meant to settle traumatizing memories. An idea clicked in his head. He'd have to do the inverted version of this particular potion, but Hufflepuffs cup would help with the security. To seem less suspicious, or maybe keep up the appearance that he was a socially acceptable person. So he'd grabbed a bottle of pepper up potion and went to the front.

Hermione was tense as he walked up. He put the bottle down and he waited as Hermione rang up his purchase. She glared at him as he paid.

"Have lunch with me, sometime. I'm not going to be in town long," he said. Hermione was powerful, and he needed power if he was going to succeed as Lord Voldemort.

"The sooner you're gone, the happier I'll be," she hissed.

"You know that's not true."

"You've chosen your path, and I know mine. Just, just leaving me alone Tom."

Her voice was strained; this girl failed at hiding her emotions. He glanced at the small pile of papers she had been working on prior.

"You're writing," he said.

"Cutting down, really," she said. "Edits."

He missed her. Power or not. The thought made him gag internally.

"Is that all?" she questioned.

Tom walked out of the shop. He forced himself to look straight ahead and not back at her. The hotel he was staying at was cheap and it looked so as well. He laid down on the uneven bed. Even at her worst, he admired Hermione. If only he hadn't needed to come back to England this early. He didn't think anyone saw him in Diagon alley. The murky weather of England bothered him, perhaps it hadn't before. However he'd grown used to the pleasures of France, and perhaps he didn't mind the foreign weather but here, here it was a grim reminder. He decided that he would work on the cave the next day.

* * *

Hermione had been bothered by Tom's intrusion on her life. Even the first time they'd met had been an intrusion! Of course, she couldn't describe this last encounter psychotic. He was a psychopath by all accounts, a hint of sociopathic tendencies, a wide range of mental illness that probably contributed towards the broad analysis, and this wasn't threatening for the most part. She screamed into the pillow that was closet to her as she sat in the lounge. If anything, perhaps she had over reacted. Although, perhaps a rational reaction when compared to her fights with Ron. She felt Euphemia's hand on her back, trying to soothe her; that was when Hermione noticed her screaming had turned into crying. She lifted herself up and tried to wipe the tears from her face.

"Are you going to Dumbledore's office this Sunday?" Euphemia asked.

"It's Saturday's," Hermione choked out.

"Well, I was thinking I'd throw a brunch. It would be nice if you met more of my friends, or our friends, however you prefer to look at it."

"I think that'd be wonderful."

"Are you sure you want to work with Fleamont forever? Well, however long you do. Don't get me wrong he's a wonderful person but wouldn't you rather, you're so young it feels cheap you shouldn't try to do more with your life here."

"I do think I like working with Fleamont admittedly. But I with my savings from the job I think I ought to find a place of my own at this point. I could you know."

Euphemia gave her a small, sad, smile.

"I'll be more than happy to help you with that if you need," she said.

"I'd appreciate that very much," Hermione said.

A sad thought crossed her mind. Harry hadn't met his grandparents, but she had. He would've liked them, she knew.

/

The meeting with Dumbledore that weekend hadn't brought Tom into conversation once. They'd talked about knitting patterns, and Hermione asked about McGonagall. Then Hermione felt herself antsy.

"Is everything alright miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked.

"I saw Tom earlier this week," Hermione said. She hated herself for pouring out the words but with Tom she didn't have any other options. "He had just, walked into the shop, didn't say much to me, well. It's all very peculiar. He'd bought a bottle of pepper up, and then proceeded to ask me to lunch. Of course I said the sooner he got away the better."

He looked over his moon spectacles at him and she wanted to melt into her seat. Fall into the deepest crevice of the universe.

"Is he, to your knowledge, meant to be in England at this time?" he asked.

Hermione pondered it for a while. He was supposed to be in Albania for about five years after Burkes, maybe ten. Why was Harry so oblivious when he told her about Tom? He was so dreadfully blind to the questions he needed but he'd been more than observant in anything else that'd caught his interest. But then again, they'd never known Tom had been to Paris in his first lesions after leaving Burkes.

"I guess it's not implausible with the knowledge I do have of his whereabouts from the future," Hermione confessed. "I hardly doubt it's because of me, because we were both so surprised at seeing each other, so it's not like he knew where I worked. Which would've implied that his lunch idea had merely been only to get me back into his fold."

"Perhaps it takes longer for some of us to realize where we need to be in life compared to others," Dumbledore said.

"Are you implying I _should_ have taken Tom up on his offer?"

"Not at all my dear. Lemon drop?"

"Actually, I think Euphemia is making a beef stew tonight, so I guess this is where I take my leave professor."

"Safe travels."

"Thank you professor."

/

Hermione thought over the brunch as she sat at work once she got back to it. The friends of the Potters were pleasant, most of them had gone to Hogwarts with Fleamont. It hadn't escaped her to notice Euphemia had been slightly upset to see their friends' children. And so Hermione sat at the counter, vaguely bored since deciding to leave her edits at home. Then an owl knocked at the window, carrying a package. Rather large admittedly. She went outside and pulled out a few treats she left in her pocket for times like these. But a package this big?

The owl left soon after, and she took the package inside. It was a large rectangular thing with her name and the address on it. She was giddy, hopeful that Dumbledore had sent something useful. It was admittedly empty, and this had to be somewhat important. So she opened the box and was... She wasn't quite sure how to feel. It was a Burgundy red typewriter, ribbon and all. There was a note stuck where paper should be. Her hand was shaking as she pulled it out.

 _Hope this helps with your book, Tom._

His address was written at the bottom. She wanted to scream but closed up the box. She'd deal with Tom later. Hermione put the box under the counter. Fleamont had decided they ought to go out for lunch that day. It was always his treat as much as she protested. But it was a nice day out and she needed something to occupy her mind. He'd rambled about a new potion he was working on and asked Hermione how she'd like the last brunch, since it was bigger than the ones Euphemia usually had since Hermione had known them.

Once they got back to the manor, Hermione made her pleasantries with Euphemia before going into her study. She didn't notice how hard she was scratching on the paper. Fleamont didn't mind that she borrowed the owl, or at least, the spare owl, for her letter.

* * *

Tom woke up from his nap to the sound of a very angry pecking. He looked up from the couch of the hotel room and saw a small angry looking owl at the window. He stumbled out of bed, yanked the letter, and shut the window. He'd stopped, wondering why this seemed so sadistic to him, and looked back at the owl still at the ledge. He went into the kitchen. He got a bowl of water, and threw it onto the ledge.

He looked at the letter, finding he needed a candle or something to read it since the sunlight was hardly existent at this point. Hermione had furiously written him that she couldn't be bought with a type writer (although she had appreciated it), and that if he really cared about her, that him destroying his remaining horcrux, and dropping his plans to be Voldemort, would suffice. She added the disclaimer that she was aware he would likely not back down from his plans, and asked him to politely " _fuck off_ " because of this.

He sat on the edge of that uncomfortable bed. In the time he'd been without Hermione, he had found himself, admittedly lonely. And perhaps he could work around getting power without Voldemort, she was just as powerful and influential of a force. However, giving up a part of himself, the Voldemort part, meant that he'd have to go into his cave. He'd already raised up an army of inferi, and then the potion. It hadn't been too hard to make and the replication of Hufflepuffs cup to even the most minor extent had helped. That had taken up the other half of the week, waiting for the potion to finish brewing. It'd taken longer than it's more positive counter part but not extensively. Loosing Hermione, however, seemed just as insufferable of a task to bear as loosing his horcrux. Especially after she'd killed two of them.

It had been later at night, and he'd taken the pepper up potion, and somehow he was still surprised to find himself at the cave. He marveled at the boat, a very underworld aesthetic. Why, why was he doing this? Tom Riddle hated that he had let someone like Hermione into his life. Everyone else was at arms length. Only she wasn't everyone else.

* * *

Euphemia had asked whom had given Hermione the type writer once she put it on the desk of the study. She admittedly, didn't know how to answer. The older woman had just given a polite smile and left the room. Hermione sat at the desk and pulled out the hand written copy of her book. Tiresome really, but it would make it easy on the eyes. She had started writing out _The_ before pulling her hands away from it. Something felt very, very, wrong about using the type writer Tom had sent her. It wasn't really anything.

She laid out on the couch, trying to justify using the type writer. Or justifying why she ought to throw the damn thing away. And she fell into a slumber. It had started out with the war, and she hated that she hadn't remembered to take the potion Fleamont had given her, and then strangely the dream twisted. There was rain, a very heavy rain, and she was inside what looked like one of those beach houses in America they show on the telly, and Tom was yelling at her. His voice was distorted. He'd given her a key, she wasn't sure why she'd need it inside the house, but for whatever reason, it was meant to seal the house in some way. She'd gotten close to the door when she'd seen Voldemort, in his pale noseless glory, with hooded Death Eaters behind him. She heard Tom yell at her to lock the door before they could get in. Her hand went to put the key in the door, only the wind had blown part of it open. And she struggled to get back to it and Tom helped her try to push it close again. Only Voldemort had stuck his hand in and pushed them back. Perhaps she'd fallen back into the nearby counter, or table, whatever it was, before she woke up.

She lifted herself up as she heard the grandfather clock strike midnight. A part of her did want Tom again, but who was he to think sending her a type writer would make her fall back into his arms. But she missed having him hold her, and comfort her after nightmares. She waved her wand to turn the lights off in the room before going up to her bed. She could faintly remember _Tom_ being the last thing she thought for the day.

* * *

 _Authors Notes: I think my favorite part about this chapter was the Potters. First update of the new year, and I hope it goes well for all of you. Please feel free to leave a review!_


	6. Be Right Back

_Authors Notes: This update took longer than I expected; classes starting and the freaking content. Thanks for the support on this story, and feel free to leave a review afterwards! Honestly, I have no idea what you guys are expecting from a chapter named after a Black Mirror episode..._

* * *

Tom wasn't sure why he'd saved Malfoy's house elf. He'd just been relieved he'd had a two way mirror once the potion started effecting him. And now he was stuck with the damned locket without the protections. It wouldn't affect him until he opened it. Directly anyway. The anger that usually controlled a person due to the dark nature of a horcrux itself would likely.

He scolded himself. If he didn't destroy the horcrux, he could return it to its resting place. Where Hermione would never find it. Where nobody would discover it, or at least get out alive. He had the key to bloody immortality in his hand! Was he really going to just, _give it up_ , for some mud blood girl? He didn't really need her. Dumbledore was a powerful wizard who hadn't quite taken to Tom's charms as the other professors had. And yet the old fool never made a move against him. Not that he'd given him any reason to. Hermione too was powerful, only she, given the right circumstances, would seek out to destroy him. Even if she was a quivering nervous foolish shop girl the last time they'd met.

And yet, for as much as she could hate him, and from what he could imply from her future, he ought to have been horrible for her to want to distance herself from him. Back when he'd been a seventh year, she'd obviously known something about him but had been willing to love him nevertheless. Only what happened between then and now, to where she'd became more calculating and… cold with that war, remained a mystery to him. He hated how he hadn't pressed her for more details. She was much more secretive about the future compared to her younger self. He laughed.

He'd been foolish enough to believe that a girl, a girl like her, was worth being his second in command. That he had been foolish enough to admire her power that he wanted to drag her into the 40's with him. Only now he had her, in the 50's, but despite being in the same timeline she couldn't be farther from him. He'd cut his sole into three, which left him with— a quarter if he calculated it accurately. Which meant he had a quarter of a soul, and a quarter of humanity remaining inside of him. He wanted to shred his soul into bits so whatever humane part of him wouldn't think about Hermione Granger. Then again, he'd never been the most human of people to begin with. He threw the locket into his trunk.

Tom looked out the window of the hotel, contemplating leaving it sooner than he anticipated. It had started to snow outside, and the window started to frost up. His reflection was more prominent now and he could've sworn his eyes were red. He ran over to the full length mirror the hotel provided. No, trick of the light— they weren't red. He laughed when he remembered how he had met Hermione the second time with that damned mirror. It was a cold, chilling, laugh that in the right circumstance, be described as murderous. His fist crashed itself against the mirror; it fractured under the pressure.

He loathed the quarter of humanity that remained in him.

* * *

Hermione hadn't heard anything from Tom for weeks. She'd been surprised, but admittedly relieved. Dumbledore had sent her an owl saying he'd have to cancel the rest of their meetings for a year because he would be meeting with a very old friend for the holidays. She wondered if it was Flamel. Or perhaps, he had started collecting information on Tom sooner. Sooner.

It had been one night, after the snow had piled up too high and Fleamont had decided they wouldn't open shop that day, and Hermione had tried to go to bed early. Only she woke up at precisely two thirty eight in the morning with a sudden realization. Or at least, frank paranoia. If Dumbledore was going after Tom this soon, under her influence, she wondered if other things had progressed sooner as well. She pulled the grey robe on that Euphemia had given her for Christmas on and ran down to her study. Fleamont's Christmas present of a chalk board rested itself against the wall. She started scribbling on it with chalk.

It started out with her accidental encounter with Riddle. Despite meeting for, oh four months— it seemed a lot longer in retrospect, but in hindsight a very short period of time— the timeline hadn't changed. It was very much like Time Turner logic; despite going backwards in time, the events of the future still occurred because that's how things were to be. This was admittedly influenced by her obliviating him, but also due to his fixation with power.

As far as she knew, she wasn't _meant_ to be here in this time period. The fake identity had been her own, uninfluenced by the time stream moving along with her. She put a question mark over this area. Then Tom had also regained his memories of her. The horcruxes— two of them at least— that were destroyed were meant to be destroyed, this was a possible fixation point that occurred; albeit sooner. Dumbledore had at least a ten years head start about what would occur with Tom; this was a flux point, minor since it still went along the original time stream. Then there was her existence. The only people that truly knew about her were Tom and Dumbledore.

She tried to figure out her part in this timeline. Obviously the mirror didn't de-age her as going into the past would have it. Hypothetically, she would age in this time line as a time turner would freeze her age until she returned to her original point of passage. However, this was not a time turner situation. Since she couldn't go home, directly anyways, that didn't make her immortal. She remembered hearing about people, where one person died, and a year or soon after, another person was born about that time, and would end up having similar features. She circled this on the board. If that theory was correct or at least plausible, then that would give her until her original birthday to die and be put back into her own timeline. Her limited contact for this year ensured that there wouldn't be any loops.

Only then that led her to a very daunting theory. There was the picture fo Bellatrix Lestrange she'd found back at Grimmauld Place; they had looked similar enough when Bellatrix had been younger that Hermione had originally been shocked at the similarity. Now, it wasn't that she could take Bellatrix Lestranges place in the time stream, she'd be too old and with the wrong alias. No, it had been a pang of fear that Hermione had potentially borne the most loathsome woman in history. Bellatrix Lestrange was born in, roughly 1951, being the middle child of that particular bloodline. Or was she the oldest? Of course, for that to happen Hermione would have to be pregnant within the year, and possibly abandon the child and hand her over to the Blacks. She crossed off the theory. It was too disturbing to consider anyway.

Her hand had started to smudge the chalk on the board as she continued to try to write. The harder it became for her to keep her eyes open, she eventually caved. She waved her wand to glamor the actual writings and went back up to her room.

* * *

He paced in front of the fireplace. A smile nearly formed on his face; the rest of the boys were visibly shaking, anxious about what he would do to them. After all, he told them he'd be out of the country for at least eight years, and now he was back after barely a year. This of course, was all about Hermione. It had to be about that stupid muggleborn. Muggleborn— of course he cared too much about her power to care about the prejudices he'd aligned himself with. He rested his arm across the mantle as he stared into the flames. Let the world burn.

"M'lord?" Avery asked, his voice raising at least five octaves and Tom felt himself close to murdering the younger boy.

He turned around, his eyes closing in displeasure before he focused back on the group.

"There has been a situation," Tom started.

"And what would you like to have us do my lord?" Lestrange asked.

"Would you let me finish!"

Lestrange retreated into himself out of fear. Tom looked at the boy in disgust before he noticed the grip he'd had on his wand. Well, at least they were obedient.

"The situation, does not involve any of you," Tom said. "At least the primary reason. I'm disbanding our Knights, as a coup on the government would lead to unnecessary problems. I do not plan on becoming Minister or your ever gracious over lord. I will however, expect your loyalty after everything we have done and we will work to improve the Ministry through smaller actions."

The Knights looked at each other confused.

"Are you positive about this, T— my lord," Malfoy asked. "We had the coup planned out and along my fathers connections with my own—"

"Malfoy, I appreciate your loyalty. But I am stepping down as Lord Voldemort and I'm positive that disbanding the Knights is for the best," Tom said.

Malfoy gave a small nod. Tom looked around and they had done the kneel. He wanted to kill his younger self for instilling the act— it was bloody fucking pretentious. The Knights of Walpurgis were not to be referenced again in the future. They had never existed. Then Tom took the Floo into Diagon Alley.

He threw an invisibility spell over himself as he walked by the Potter boy's shop. He could see Hermione smiling at the customer who was leaving. It started getting cold and he muttered a warming spell. The elderly woman walked out and bumped into him to her confusion. He told himself it would be irresponsible to kill her for something so petty— he was fucking petty but still, it'd be impractical. He saw Hermione rearrange the bun in her hair. A small smile formed on his face, surprisingly not of malice.

And then he thought about how he'd thrown away his plans for a coup and getting rid of the Knights. He was so bizarrely close to destroying his horcrux that it all seemed ridiculous. He never _asked_ to have feelings for Hermione Granger. Which is surely what this irrational emotion was. He apparated back to the hotel room he had. Tom had started throwing the cruciatus at the rat that had sneaked its way into his room.

Hermione Granger had been meant to be a means to an end. He admired her for her power. He admired her because she wasn't afraid to be around him, the real him behind the facade. And yet she had to have that stupid smile and witty comments and be an intelligent human being. He remembered the one time he told her he loved her— but that hadn't been entirely true, as he found looking back on it. His younger self was perhaps more selfish. Not so say he wasn't selfish now. And now he'd destroyed his horcruxes over this stupid girl. This girl that clearly didn't belong here. And he found that was the likely reason he was doing this. She was so insanely pure, and good, and light that it felt wrong to taint her. To fully pull her into the corrupt power he needed. Only now he needed her more. Even after he'd seen her in her worst state, there was still an overwhelming amount of _good_ in her.

He wasn't even sure if he knew what love was. It was a side effect caused by endorphins and other chemical reactions to a situation. There wasn't even a guarantee she'd talk to him again if he got rid of the horcruxes. He walked over to the drawer and looked down at the horcrux that resided in it. He might as well kill her, the Knights would reform. He didn't need some stupid little girl to get where he needed. Tom shut the drawer and felt the need to pull out his hair. This girl was driving him insane.

* * *

Hermione had sworn someone was watching her at the shop that day. Of course there wasn't anyone outside that was focused on her, and Henrietta Longbottom (whom was Nevilles great-great grandmother she found) had been in the shop but hadn't given her any strange energy. Euphemia had gone with her to look at some houses in Godrics Hollow that were relatively in expensive once her shift had ended. She found it curious that the street that had the Potter's house hadn't been built yet. Of course, the one apartment above a shop in the neighborhood had taken her interest. Euphemia had found it too small, but she agreed that it wouldn't be a horrible investment.

Over dinner Fleamont joked that he was hurt at her potentially moving out, although Hermione reassured him that she'd still work for him and come over for dinners. She'd attempted to use Tom's type writer that night. She decided to use it for her theories on how the time line could have changed in between the main parts of information that she knew would happen in the First War. It ended up being about fifteen pages by the time she decided to turn in for the night. Somehow it didn't feel as wrong to use Tom's gift.

Tom. She'd been a stupid heartbroken girl when she met him that now, being in the same time period as him yet so far away felt like a strange development. She tried to tell herself she pushed him out for a good reason. It was. He'd been physically violent and really didn't have any concerns about her. Of course the gift wasn't going to change her mind about it. She gripped onto the pillow. What if Tom came back? Would he ever come back was a better question. Because she doubted he'd care about another human being more than power. Bellatrix Lestrange had been close. But Tom Riddle-Voldemort had never known love. She scrunched up her nose. The side of her eye began to cry, sure she was upset but not enough to cry.

It was winter break from Hogwarts as she found. A couple of school girls with their house scarves walked in gossiping about whatever prefect it was, and had come up to the counter with bottles of Sleakeazy. Hermione regretted not trying to befriend the other girls in her house. DA had been the closest she'd been to friends outside of Ron and Harry. After the war she had closed herself off. And she wondered what it would've been like if she'd bothered to actually understand Lavender and Parvarti. Would she have also been apart of their late night gossip sessions and had her hair pinned with butterfly clips too? She was brought back into reality when a Slytherin boy came up to buy a couple of potions ingredients. Lavender Brown had died in the war, and she couldn't be heartless enough to feel good about it.

An owl came to the window and she picked the letter off of it. The landlord of the apartment said she could move in within the next month. Fleamont had come up to the front to tell her he'd finished at least two updated potions and was rather giddy about putting them out. She didn't know why the words spilled out of her mouth, demanding to know if they'd pulled strings to get her the apartment. They had. But he assured her they just wanted her happy and to give her a head start. She calmed down a bit and let the issue go.

On her breaks she attempted to look for gifts for the Potter's. She saw a black plushy dog that was enchanted to bark in one shop and thought about getting it. Of course, the Potter's wouldn't get the gag. She got a potion bottle set for Fleamont. The rest of her shift she agonized over what to get for Euphemia. She couldn't really imply that the older couple would actually have a kid in the near future. There were about two days until Christmas Eve and then the idea occurred to her.

Hermione had woken up on Christmas morning to something knocking on her window. She pulled her robe over herself before opening the window to a barn owl that nudged at her before she put water out for it. There was a dark green seal on it and the envelope was rather heavy. She opened it over the bed to see the fragments of Slytherins locket. There was a letter with it too— Tom had said he'd destroyed the horcrux and wondered if she'd talk to him again. This took up about five pages and she caught a mention that he'd disbanded his Knights of Walpurgis— of whom he had gathered to help him organize a coup but had disregarded that plan because she was more important. A very… odd Christmas gift she determined. She rubbed her forehead and put the locket and the letter in her nightstand.

Fleamont hadn't woken up yet and she helped Euphemia with making breakfast. Fleamont had stumbled downstairs, his glasses askew and he nearly tripped over the tie to his robe. They opened the presents and Euphemia was delighted at Hermione's gift of a fuzzy blanket that was charmed to stay warm. Fleamont had given her two tubs of Sleakeazy and sugar quills while Euphemia had gotten her a couple of notebooks and ink wells. Dobby was surprised when Hermione called him and gave him a tea cozy. He was very much delighted by it. A sad smile formed on her face when she remembered how many tea cozy and hat's he'd taken to in the future before he….

"There's one more present under here, I think it's for you Jean," Fleamont said, pulling a smaller box out from under the tree.

She saw her name was written on the box and casted a couple of defense spells over it. Nothing sketchy. Her hands undid the wrapping, expecting the worst. Only it was a copy of Hogwarts, a History, autographed by Bathilda Bagshot. Her eyes widened and it occurred to her that the gift had to have come from Tom. She'd already gotten her presents from the Potters and Tom was the only other person she knew in this time period.

"Are you alright Jean?" Euphemia asked, concerned.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," Hermione said. "Do you think we ought to have breakfast now?"

Dobby had already set the table up and the food was still warm. Hermione decided it wouldn't be a horrible idea to talk to Tom again. They laughed over the table and the rest of the day went by rather quiet. She didn't realize she missed the Snoopy Christmas until it was before the special aired. At her desk she opened the ink well that was dark blue and started to write Tom. Or attempted to. She wrote that she appreciated the gift but wasn't sure whether to write that she did miss him and that she wanted to see him again. That weird sinking feeling lodged itself in her again. It was strange being apart from someone you loved so much after finally getting the chance. She kept it at thank you and merry Christmas before using the spare owl.

The Potters had helped her move into her new apartment and it felt strange. They were family, almost, at this point. And now she was back on her own. Well, there was Friday night dinners and they had invited her to a New Years party with them. But Godrics Hollow would take a while to feel like home. Dobby had brought left overs for her at Euphemia's request. The Potters had left and Hermione sat on the bed with her box of belongings. They hadn't bothered with that box at her insistence. She put the locket remains in the drawer again and went out to the kitchen to set up tea. As she waited for the water to heat up, she looked across the room to the desk that had the type writer on it. The peculiar ways Tom crept into her life.

New Years, she wore a set of dress robes Euphemia had gotten her before leaving to the Potters. They were apparently going to Regina Greengrass' New Years eve party; she was apparently also a former Black with ties to Euphemia's family. Euphemia had assured her that she would get along well with the higher crowd— Fleamont scoffed at this since he wasn't very found of the group himself— and that she was sure Hermione-Jean would get along with Regina's daughter, Ersa.

The party was in full swing once they got there. Fleamont and Hermione trailed Euphemia as she reconnected with family friends and whomever. They eventually ran into Regina and Ersa. Ersa had her hair pulled back with diamond pins and a snake ring on her hand. She wore a dark green dress robe that had silver embroidery in it. Hermione found herself intimated by Ersa's beauty.

"So Clearwater, are you one of the pure blood or half blood ones?" Ersa asked, although it came out rather bitter.

"Half blood," Hermione lied.

"I thought you would've kept better company Aunt Euphemia," Ersa said in a scolding tone.

"Ersa it's a party, at least keep it behind closed doors," Regina snapped.

Hermione noticed how Regina dug her nails into Ersa's arm. The other girl tried to hold back the look of pain before Regina let go. Regina made a comment about how it was disappointing that Ersa hadn't been married yet, although she was delighted that Ersa's older brother, Eric, was expecting an heir with his wife. Hermione felt bad for Ersa, but found it would be too much effort to try to make a friendship with the girl who didn't want anything to do with her. Purebloods.

The moment they could, Fleamont and Hermione broke away from Euphemia who was too delighted to be around company again. Hermione had left for the bathroom and on her way back to Fleamont had accidentally crashed into someone.

"Sorry!" She said, it sounded more like a squeak.

"Hermione," the other voice said.

She looked up and wished she hadn't.

"Tom," the name tumbled out of her mouth.

"I didn't expect to see you here," Tom said.

"Fleamont and Euphemia."

He looked up, rolled his eyes, and took a sip of champagne from the glass in his hands.

"What? They're my friends," Hermione said defensively.

"How have you been," he said, changing the subject.

"Fine, I've been writing and I think I should be close to getting my scientific analysis published."

"Impressive."

"What about you? How have you been since we…"

"It's fine. I'm… fine. Really I think you infected me with those things called emotions but… it's been fine."

"Are you really going to blame me for you having emotions?"

"No, it's my problem. That's just the most interesting thing for me to have had to deal with."

Hermione rolled her eyes and grabbed a champagne glass from one of the floating trays.

"So you're still in France or did you move back?" Hermione asked.

"The Chateau is up on the market. So, yes I'm back in England," Tom responded.

He asked her a few questions about the book she was publishing and she felt excited to talk about it with someone other than Fleamont. Not that Fleamont was bad, it was just nice to have another opinion. She had pulled herself away from him for the food bar, and Tom said he had to meet some other people too before the reconvened.

* * *

Tom had been talking to Abraxas when Ersa threw herself at him. She was very clearly drunk and it was only eleven.

"Why didn't you come last year? You… you bloody backstabber," she slurred.

"Pardon us, Abraxas," Tom said, dragging the girl outside.

The garden was bright under the moon.

"I know what chu did," Ersa said.

"Ersa, it's nothing. You're causing a scene and you ought to go to bed," Tom said.

"Don't you tell me what to do half-blood! You're such a prat I dunno why Eric and his croons like you sooo much. Because it's been a year Riddle! And you just left me! For what?"

"It was a personal trip."

"No, it was because youuu killed that Smith woman."

"Ersa, I didn't."

"You think I'm just stupid so that's why you kept me around. But I was also in Slytherin and ya know, I am clever. You never thought I was clever!"

"Of course I thought you were clever, but right now you're being stupid being drunk."

Ersa let out a cackle.

"You killed her and I'm going to tell ma auntie. You'll never see day again," Ersa said, her tongue slid over teeth.

"Ersa, I didn't kill the Smith woman," Tom lied.

"I saw you with that, that _whore._ Why shouldn't I? Because even if you idn't then it still go on your record and you'd be good as dead under my hand!"

"Do _not_ call her a whore."

Her eyes went wide as he pinned her against the wall. She clawed at his hand holding her against it.

"You will not tell anyone that you think I killed Smith, and you will go up to your room and lie down like a good girl," Tom said.

"I just missed you," she said, her voice wavering.

"Ersa, move the bloody hell along."

He let go and she ran down a hallway to the upstairs. He ran a hand through his hair before reentering the party. Tom saw Hermione talking to Fleamont and walked over to the pair.

"Tom," Hermione beamed upon noticing him. "You just missed Euphemia and Regina telling us about this time they were in New York…"

"I'm sure it was delightful," Tom said.

"Oh, right, Tom this is Fleamont and Fleamont, Tom," Hermione said.

"Pleasure," Fleamont said, there was a hint of bitterness in his tone.

"He's not quite a snob like the other prats here," Hermione told Fleamont.

"I'm not that much of a snob, quite the compliment," Tom said.

"You're still a snob," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

"How do you two know each other again?" Fleamont asked.

"We actually met—" Tom started. Hermione glared at him. "And I briefly courted her, and wait for the day she'll take me back."

"He seems too much like a snob for you," Fleamont told Hermione.

"He's one of the only other intelligent people on this planet able to keep up with me," Hermione said.

Fleamont rolled his eyes and took a sip of the scotch in his hands.

"Can I ask you for a dance?" Tom asked Hermione.

She held onto his hand and looked back at Fleamont as they walked onto the dance floor.

"I don't really know how to dance," Hermione admitted. "There was the Yule Ball but that was so long ago."

"Just follow my lead," Tom said.

"Oh yes, follow your lead, as always."

"Are you mad at me still?"

"No, your Christmas gift was… very thoughtful."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it."

He saw that some of the gold on her dress robes had gotten onto her face and… he had to allow himself to think it was acceptable to admire Hermione. Normal people with normal feelings didn't try to rationalize feelings, they just let them happen. The orchestra had changed the song and they walked out to the back. The snow stopped above them.

"Isn't tonight your birthday?" Hermione asked.

"Unfortunately," Tom said.

"I'll be spending two of your birthdays with you. Technically three but I was passed out when I arrived."

"Don't act all glad about it, you missed a number in between them."

"You're such a prat."

Tom put his arm around her as she moved closer to him.

"I— I did miss you," Hermione said.

"I… missed you too," Tom said. He rubbed his thumb over her hand.

"You really destroyed the locket? Not a copy?"

"I destroyed the legitimate locket and I haven't made any more."

He heard the people in the mansion count down to New Years. When he looked down he saw Hermione was looking up at him with _two_ forming on her mouth.

* * *

Hermione had woken up in her bed with something around her. She went for the wand under her pillow before looking behind her to see it was Tom. His hair was unruly and he had the most peaceful expression on his face. The year was ninety fifty one, if she got pregnant this year she risked giving birth to Bellatrix Lestrange. Possibly. She laid back down and moved herself closer to Tom. She couldn't let herself overthink a ridiculous possibility. Twenty one was perhaps too young to have children anyway. Unless you were a pureblood aristocrat.

The sun started to get brighter through the curtains. Somehow they ended up spending most of the day in the bed together. Hermione traced her finger over Tom's bicep.

"So what do we do now?" Hermione asked.

"What do you want to do?" Tom asked.

"I want to go home… but then there's you and this time things are… I want to say different but you could always revert back and be—"

"Hermione, I'm trying to be a better person for you. And myself."

"You know that war I was in?"

"Yes."

"It was because of you. Lord Voldemort really. Hogwarts was destroyed and so many people lost their lives trying to get rid of your dictatorship."

He tensed up.

"Why would I destroy Hogwarts?" Tom asked. "It's the only place I've ever called home."

"Because you ripped your soul. Because me and my friends were there trying to destroy the last of your horcruxes and you found out."

"I'm guessing I went through with at least six horcruxes."

She didn't say anything.

"No wonder, I'd lost my humanity by that point," Tom said, looking up at the ceiling.

"But… you destroyed your horcruxes and we can at least stop the wars from happening," Hermione insisted.

"You mentioned the one. How many were there?"

"Two in total caused by you. The first I don't have… much information on besides knowing who was born and who died."

He kept looking at the ceiling.

"Why even save me then?" He pondered.

"Because… I love you," Hermione said. She said the words, she said the damned words that he could use against her again. She was giving him that power again.

"Even after how horrible I've been to you?"

"I'm horrible too."

"No, you're not. You're good."

"I kept a woman in a jar for a good chunk of the year one time when I was fifteen. I'm not entirely good."

"You don't seek out power like I have. I can't say you're weak because you're selfless for everyone else."

"Tom, just accept that I love you."

His hand twisted a piece of hair around his finger. She kept waiting for that red to reappear in his eyes. Something to tell her that being with him was wrong.

"I think I love you," he said.

"You think?" Hermione asked.

"Legitimate feelings are… a peculiar sensation I'm trying to accept."

She inched herself closer to him.

"So what do you want to do? We never got around to that," he grinned.

"Maybe… we should just… go steady again," Hermione said.

"Go steady?"

"Go on dates, act like normal people, because the proposal idea you threw out was… very rushed in my opinion."

"I think I can accept that."

He left a lingering kiss on her lips. Her hands tangled themselves in his hair.

"Merlin, I missed you," Tom muttered.

She had invited Tom to dinner with the Potters the following Friday. It was nerve wracking for her since the Potters were the closest thing she had to family here, and Tom… was a psychopath trying to redeem himself. They had used the floo from Hermione's apartment to go over. Euphemia had been delighted to meet Tom and Fleamont had… warmed up slightly to him. Tom told them he'd been staying in Manchester since returning from France and had a loose internship with the senior Malfoy at the Ministry. The dinner had gone well to Hermione's relief.

* * *

The year had gone by in a blink. Tom was perhaps the better cook of the two as they found out. Hermione was surprised that she told Tom more about the future, how she agonized over the possible changes she was making. She told him about the brief paper she wrote about the timelines and how she was changing them and what points possibly needed to remain in place. Tom would usually try to talk her down from an anxiety attack. The nightmares, she found, had also receded. They weren't as visible. Only then the nightmares involving the child bringing death to Tom started being more reoccurring. Hermione didn't tell Tom about these dreams. But he was truly trying to be a better person— not to say he wasn't still a prat, which he was— and he went to dinners with her and the Potters when he could. The senior Malfoy was pushing more work onto him since he was planning to retire in the coming year.

At one point, Tom had taken her to his place in Manchester for a surprise. Hermione had been anxious and Tom told her to wear something from her time if she wanted. Not that she had much left from that time. It was confusing to say the least. And he had opened a closet and there was a floor length mirror inside. Hermione hadn't thought much of it before Tom told her it was the last mirror of Kronos. She could go home, if she wanted. Except she saw herself with Tom in it and slammed the cupboard door shut. She screamed at him that he was careless about her and accused him of wanting her gone, and didn't think about her feelings. This ended up with her crying and falling into Tom's arms. She hit him a couple of times, he said he didn't feel anything from it. He said he knew how much she missed her previous life and that she didn't have to use the mirror. Perhaps they'd keep it to prevent anyone else from getting it. She didn't ask how he'd gotten it to begin with. She just told him she would stay with him, here.

It had been November when Tom had proposed to her. They had taken a holiday to Venice, at Abraxa's insistence and Hermione had initially been worried how much help Fleamont would need at the shop. Of course he told her it was fine if she went on the trip. They had been taking a boat back to the hotel, when Tom asked her. Simple and to the point. The ring was white gold with a large diamond in the middle with a smaller emerald and ruby on the sides. Hermione had said yes, and been slightly anxious she'd sounded too enthusiastic about it. He had also told her that before they left he had left a copy of Hermione's scientific paper for Malfoy. She'd been frustrated at first before he told her he needed someone more influential to push for a more scientific department in the ministry.

When they got back they decided that they didn't need to decide who's place to move into yet— Hermione liked having her own space and Tom was content with that. Euphemia had been thrilled and helped Hermione plan out the wedding. However, the affair ended up being small, with only the Potters and a few of Euphemia's friends from brunch that Hermione got along with, and Tom's side was… he had Malfoy as his best man and that was as close as it got. Abaraxas' wife was also in attendance. The honeymoon was in Florence— Tom had originally suggested France however Hermione had argued against this for the time she was held hostage. Not quite hostage but it wasn't the best of times for the couple.

While in Florence, Tom had suggested… doing things in public places. Which had Hermione shocked and usually refusing these advances to Tom's amusement. Of course there had been a library they'd been wandering and they had wandered towards the back of the top floor where nobody was. Hermione had casted a muffling charm by the time she realized what was going on. He pushed her back against the wall and she started undoing the buttons on his shirt. His mouth kissed the side of hers and she felt the wave of high pass through her. He'd pushed her onto a table and she wrapped her legs around him as he moved her underwear and she pushed her skirts up. It had been agonizing having him tease her before actually entering her. She couldn't quite walk right after the event and nobody thought twice to look at them.

Hermione found she needed a pepper up potion, or something similar, to keep her from feeling tired and nauseated once she got back to work. Fleamont had hired a recent Hogwarts grad while she was gone. After skipping her second period, Hermione grew anxious. It occurred to her she'd missed two of the contraceptive potions, after taking the second one she was supposed to take for that month. Tom was staying at his place in Manchester tonight. They'd decided that Tom would move into her place at the end of the month. Dammit.

She tried to remember the spell Ginny had done back in her sixth year. Hermione bit her lip and waited for the spell to give the results. Pregnant. She was pregnant again. Stupid, it had been that stupid honeymoon. It had to have been that time when she forgot to take the potion. She put her back against the wall of the bathroom as she sat down. The times she'd wanted to nearly throw up should've been a sign. She wondered how Tom would feel about it. After all, his internship with Malfoy would end next month. Which meant they'd have to rely on her income after his severance and the savings and… The anxiety made her cry.

Saturday, and Tom came home. Hermione blurted out she was pregnant, which didn't go quite the way she expected after reciting a script in her head. There was silence before Tom offered to make them tea. He wasn't saying anything. Oh god, he'd kill her. He'd kill her because he didn't want the child.

"I'm sorry, I just, skipped two dosages of my potion," Hermione blurted out when he brought the tea over to her.

"Hermione," he said firmly.

"Yes?"

"I'm… nervous. Understandably. But— I'm glad. Actually excited once that's able to be processed."

"You make yourself sound like a computer."

"Hermione."

They had had tea and thought about who to ask to be godparents. Tom had wanted Abraxas as godfather— Hermione joked that he liked Malfoy more than her to his annoyance— and Hermione decided to ask Euphemia to be godmother. She'd debated on McGonagall but figured it would be a strange request.

* * *

Tom had requested a meeting with Dumbledore. Hermione had started taking half shifts at Fleamonts. He lingered at the bottom of the staircase and tried different passwords to the office.

"It's pumpkin pasty," he heard a voice say. He turned around to see Minerva McGonagall rolling her eyes at him.

"Thanks," Tom told her before she walked down the hallway.

He used the password and went up to the office. Tom sat in the chair across from Dumbledore and felt like Death could be in front of him at the moment about to take him into the afterlife. The older wizard looked at him over his half moon spectacles.

"Might I ask why you've asked for this meeting?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes, um, I'm assuming you know who Hermione Granger is," Tom started. Dumbledore liked Hermione from what he could remember her telling him about.

"Indeed, how is she?"

"We actually got married earlier this year professor."

Dumbeldore didn't look anymore pleased with him.

"I was wondering if I could teach, or take an apprenticeship for the Defense Against the Dark Arts," Tom said. "Malfoy is retiring this month and I… was looking for a place of employment since… me and Hermione are expecting."

He had ditched the legacy of Lord Voldemort. He'd severed most ties with his former followers. He had abandoned his plans for Albania to find that stupid diadem that was Ravenclaws because of Hermione. Or perhaps Dumbledore would use Dippets excuse of him being too young to be a professor. Dumbledore didn't really like him, which was understandable and yet completely overrated. Just because he was a parselmouth and had let Salazars basilisk out… which Dumbledore didn't really know but had his suspicions about.

"I suppose we can offer you an apprenticeship. The incoming school year is supposed to be rather large," Dumbledore.

"Thank you so much sir," Tom said, he wondered if he sounded too over eager.

"After your relationship with miss Granger, or Riddle, I suppose I can offer the benefit of the doubt."

"She's partially kept her name sir, so it's Granger-Riddle."

"Beginning of August you can meet with Professor Erys to discuss the class schedule."

Tom gave a nod and left. He took the train from Hogsmade to London to resume the rest of the day at Mafloy's office.

* * *

They had decided to move into Hogsmade so Tom could be closer to them without having to constantly use the floo. Hermione had found out they would be having a girl and told him she'd been thinking of names with Euphemia. There were a few times he'd been overly protective of Hermione as she started being more visible. Tom had chided her for reading muggle. She'd grown defensive over her copy of the Great Gatsby. They had put the mirror in a room they decided to use for storage in the back. Hermione would pass by it on the way to their bed room or to look into the soon to be nursery; the room with the mirror always gave her a creepy feeling.

It had been mid November. Hermione had visited Tom had Hogwarts for the weekend since he was late grading papers. He'd scolded her for visiting him when she was close to giving birth. She'd been biting on a sugar quill when she held onto her stomach.

"Is everything alright Hermione?" Tom asked.

"I'm fine," Hermione snapped. "It's probably another false um labor thing."

"Are you sure you don't want to go down to the infirmary?"

"I'm fine, Tom. Besides Saint Mungo's should be fine if we're going to have a magical delivery because you didn't want to do it the muggle way!"

"Muggle's are neanderthals."

"I thought you were less prejudiced by this point."

"Hermione…"

The quill dropped out of her hand as the contractions continued.

"That's it we're going to the infirmary," Tom said, helping her up.

"I'm fine I'm not going into labor!" Hermione screamed.

As soon as she stood up a small piuddle of water formed under her.

"We're going to the infirmary," Tom said.

She grimaced as they ran to the infirmary. It wasn't that far of a walk, but the stair cases made it seem longer.

"This isn't supposed to happen yet!" She snapped as she laid on the bed.

A few Quidditch players who had been stuck in the infirmary after the recent match looked over at the couple.

"Look, Healer Lawrence is fully trained from Saint Mungo's. We can get through this," Tom said.

Hermione grimaced feeling another contraction happened.

"That's five minutes down to three, you git," Hermione hissed.

Healer Lawrence ran out of his office. He moved the screen around them. He casted some spells to come to the conclusion that Hermione was going into premature labor.

"Well get the damn thing out!" Hermione screamed.

"Hermione, just keep breathing," Tom said, glancing at the Healer.

"I'm in fucking pain right now you prat!"

The Healer had to call in his assistant, a young woman named Madam Pompfrey, and the two figured that they'd have to do a cesarian. Hermione had a bottle of a numbing potion go down her throat before they performed the operation.

When Hermione was conscious again she started going into a panic. The girl was healthy for the most part, however the Healer was performing some spells as the baby was still premature. Tom held her hand in an attempt to help her calm down. She started screaming instead. By the morning they let her see the baby.

"What are you going to name her?" Pompfrey asked.

Hermione looked at Tom and said, "Daisy."

"Why Daisy?" Tom asked, vaguely confused.

"Because of Gatsby," Hermione said.

"Fine, Daisy Morgan Riddle," Tom said.

"Morgan?" Hermione questioned.

"I told you this like a month ago. Morgan as in Morgan Le Fey, one of the most powerful witches alongside Merlin," Tom said.

"I don't approve," Hermione said.

"You named her after a muggle book character," Tom said.

"I… suppose you can have the middle name," Hermione sighed.

Hermione looked down at the baby, she hadn't opened her eyes yet but there was a tuff of thick black hair on her head. Tom had leaned over to look at her too. Despite the stressful pregnancy, it was a relief to have Tom by her side.

* * *

It was going to be Daisy's second birthday soon. She had long wavy black hair and had Hermione's brown eyes and she had stopped hissing, finally and was having short bits of words like normal children did. Hermione yelled at Tom about the hissing since he was the only one who could understand her before they were able to teach her English. The nursery was a light blue color and Daisy's favorite toy had been a stuffed pegasus. Tom was irritated that Daisy wasn't actively magical yet which in turn annoyed Hermione.

Hermione had been trying to teach Daisy small things like a normal child. Of course she'd start hissing and then be excited when she figured something out. The hissing, or parselmouth, worried Hermione. It was perhaps the dark connotations that came along with the talent. Of course, there had been the one… professor was it? At Ilvermony that had been a parselmouth too. Of course Daisy didn't understand that the trait was assumed bad and she had to stop. A few times she and Tom debated about what House they thought Daisy would be sorted into. Tom pegged Slytherin since she had to be like her father, while Hermione was hoping Gryffindor since the house would hopefully introduce her to more welcoming people.

It had been the weekend before Daisy's birthday and Tom had come down to the house on Saturday. They had been playing with Daisy in the nursery.

"What if she came out… normal?" Hermione asked.

"Like a functioning human being or a muggle?" Tom asked, waving the pegasus above Daisy.

"Both, I suppose. Or maybe just functioning. Because we're both incredibly smart that it'd be a surprise if she didn't have a similar level of intellect, but I was always weird about social norms growing up—"

"Hermione, she'll be fine. We're both around for her, and I'm friendly enough with Minerva that we'll also have someone to watch over her at Hogwarts."

"I…"

She moved herself closer to Tom and leaned on his free arm. Daisy's amusement at the pegasus toy grew into irritation as she couldn't grab it. She scrunched up her nose and the pegasus went flying out of Tom's hand.

"That wasn't you, was it?" Tom asked Hermione.

"That was definitely her," Hermione said. "I'll go get it."

"Hermione—"

"Just find another toy to play with her in the meantime. It's just down the hallway."

Tom looked at her concerned. There was something very, very wrong in this moment. Hermione kissed Tom and pulled him closer.

"I could go get the toy," Tom said through the kiss.

She kissed him a little harder before standing up. Hermione walked down the hallway trying to see where the stuffed animal had gone before finding that the storage rooms door was opened. It had to have gone in there. She heard Daisy laugh at some gibberish Tom had said. Hermione took a breath and opened the door a little bit more. She walked into the room, there wasn't much light in it. From the sunlight she could see the toy that was still flapping its wings. When she went down to pick it up she noticed the mirror in front of her. Here was home. She was disappointed she couldn't be with her friends, but there were the Potters and Tom, her family. Hermione held the toy closer to her as she started to turn back before she felt something pulling her. A scream couldn't form before it went dark.


	7. Epilogue

Hermione felt her legs jerk up as she landed on her back. She looked in her hand and saw that she was still holding Daisy's toy. As she sat herself up, she looked around the room and saw that it was the same storage room that was in her and Tom's house. There was dust coating the desk and she saw her typewriter on it now. The color was a little worn on it and there was a thinner layer of dust. She wobbled as she stood up and opened the door.

There were a few frames on the wall that weren't there before. Tom and Daisy, whom was about six, were sitting on a park bench and Daisy was laughing. Maybe ten years had past at most. Yes, yes it had to be ten years. Oh, that felt like a lie in itself. It was relatively quiet in the house. She went into the nursery, although the door was closed. It creaked open as she pushed forward. There was a queen sized bed, with a dark blue comforter on it. A photograph without a frame was hung on the wall of a girl about sixteen. She had her head tilted up and a smug look of superiority on her face. Her dark hair was bushy and she had a trench coat on as she stood next to a girl that looked similar to her, although the other girl had a more sinister look. Hermione traced her finger on the other girl, Bellatrix Lestrange. She looked sadly at the girl that was Daisy.

She looked around the room and saw the desk had a few muggle books on it as well as Hogwarts, a History. It was the copy Tom had given her for Christmas that one year. There was a Ravenclaw banner on the side of the wall with the picture. Daisy had been a Ravenclaw. At least fourteen years. She had to have been gone for fourteen years. That'd be awkward to explain to her daughter. She put the pegasus on the pillow. Looking around she saw that there was a lion, a snake and an eagle plush on a bench in the corner. She smiled. Then she walked out of the room and wondered where Tom was. He was probably doing a lecture with the sun still being up.

Hermione walked down the stairs and felt the house was rather lonely. There was a picture of Daisy at her graduation on the wall. Longer than fourteen years. Then she went into Tom's office. He was lying on the couch, sprawled out and he didn't look any older than thirty five at best. Then she looked at the frame above him. It was the front of the Daily Prophet " _Hogwarts Professor Ends Reign of Lady_ _Slytherin_ " with a picture of Daisy lying on the ground, dead. There was a side article that went on about Tom, however he looked solemn trying to avoid the camera's. She felt her chest constricting.

"Who are you!" she heard him shout, he had his wand pointed at her.

"Tom, Tom it's me," Hermione forced out, shocked.

"I'm not falling for that again, Bellatrix! How did you get out of Azkaban!"

"Tom, Tom it's me."

This was horrible, this was a very horrible dream and she was going to wake up with Daisy still being two, and Tom was going to laugh as if it was a joke. Except there was a very dark and pained expression in his eyes now.

"Tom," she said, her voice cracked. Damn. "I'm back, I don't. I don't know how long I was gone."

He lowered his wand as he stood up. She ran into him, embracing him.

"Hermione," he said in disbelief.

"I'm, I'm so sorry," she said.

They were like that for a while before they sat on the couch and Hermione leaned on Tom.

"What year is it?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"Two thousand and five," Tom said.

"I've been gone that long? But you... you look so young."

He laughed. She felt herself ease a bit as he ran his hand over her arm.

"I've used this potion to... slow down my aging. If you ever came back I didn't want to look like an old man and scare you," he said.

"It would look weird to anyone else but I wouldn't have minded," Hermione said.

"Liar."

"So what... happened when I was gone?"

"I raised Daisy with the Potter's help. She was so, so bright. She reminded me of you in so many ways. But I don't know where I went wrong. She had plenty of friends but there was something always odd about the group. At the time I lied to myself and said she was just like you, but she was me. She organized her group of Death Eaters right under my nose and I didn't have a clue."

His voice started to break and Hermione ran her thumb over his hand.

"And then she left home after graduation," he continued. "The war that you described happened. Only Daisy didn't make horcruxes, just wanted superiority for playing the descendent of Slytherin card. I don't quite know what her problem was with James so I tried to protect them. But once I found the shields had been broken, Lily and James were dead and she was about to kill Harry. So I fought her in Godrics Hollow, I tried to get her to turn herself over but she didn't give me a choice."

"You killed her," Hermione mumbled.

"I retired shortly after that. It was also good too, avoided running into you once you started Hogwarts," Tom said.

"Why?"

"I think it would've been incredibly odd even if I had stayed. I wanted you to live like you would have if Voldemort never happened, if I wasn't around."

"So you just became a hermit and stayed in our house for the rest of your days."

"I wasn't a hermit. Actually, one time I went to visit Minerva for tea. You caught a glimpse of me and, there was this odd look in your eyes. Afterwards Minerva told me you dropped Divination."

"So, my timeline didn't change that much."

"If you would've kept taking that class you might have found out more about us, or anything really."

"It's a pseudo science, it's not reliable."

"Well, I was in the back when you graduated. Then you were in a relationship with that Weasley, and about five years ago you disappeared."

"What do you mean disappeared?"

"You were working in the DMLE, and then one day you told everyone ' _hey I'm moving to France_ '. Didn't elaborate any further and nobody heard from you after. Even I tried to find you and I couldn't."

"You looked for me?"

"I gave up after two years before determining it was the mirror, or history, retconning itself for you to come back. After all, there wasn't a Voldemort that influenced your decisions for the mirror anymore. Tea?"

"Sure."

They walked into the kitchen, nothing much had changed.

"And what about Daisy?" Hermione asked. "You kind of jumped away from talking about her."

"Fine," he said, heating up the pot. "Eventually this Lady Slytherin came to light and it wasn't hard for anyone to recognize her as Daisy Riddle, Head Girl. Yes, she was head girl. She hated me because I refused to talk about what happened to you, maybe some other things too. I'm not sure. But one night I'm part of a mission by the Order and we're close to finding Daisy. Then I hear you scream and there's this room. And it was you, or Bellatrix impersonating you. Daisy tortured me, they got a kick out of their prank."

Hermione stared at the cup Tom put in front of her.

"That's why you accused me of being Bellatrix," Hermione said.

"I'm sorry," he responded.

"Don't be. I'm just... it's my fault."

"Don't blame yourself Hermione. If you do that you'll drive yourself insane."

"I'm not talking about that! When... when we were in Paris that one time, there was this psychic I guess. I thought she was a fraud but she told me that if I saved you, then someone else would take your place. I just, I never thought it'd be my own daughter."

"Time has to correct itself. Don't blame yourself for saving me."

"I just, I've had my life ripped out from under me again. I thought I'd die on my birthday so the time stream would correct itself but I'd at least see Daisy grow up and... And now I don't even know what my life is now when this alternate me was here."

"What do you want to do then? We could stay here if you'd like."

"You're what seventy now, that's not even long enough for me to have a life with you."

"On the contrary, I explained the situation to Dumbledore with the mirror. I didn't trust him to have it once he asked. But he talked to the Flamels and they gave me a small dosage of the Elixir of Life. Really enough for me to extend my life a little past the average wizards life so I could live long enough to see you. Maybe have a life if you wanted."

"Then lets, lets go away somewhere. If nobody's actually seen you for years, and nobody has a clue where I am, maybe we could go somewhere and pretend like the last fifty or so years didn't happen and we could just be us."

* * *

They stayed in Hogsmade while they tried to figure out what to do next. Hermione noticed Tom having nightmare's too. He woke her up screaming at times, she would try to hold his hand until he woke up. He'd say he was sorry when the dreams ended and they'd go back to sleep. She was still in her twenties, and Tom, Tom had nearly lived a life without her. She would try to push these thoughts away, and he wouldn't talk about what happened during his war. It was fine. It wasn't fine.

Her nightmares would occur too, not as vivid as they used to. But they were still there. It was easier to pretend like they hadn't gone through their own things. That they were still just an average, beyond intelligent, couple. She found herself lying on her side, facing away from Tom whens she cried. There were parts of her life she was missing, things she hadn't been able to experience herself. And she had essentially given birth to the anti-Christ. She made Tom kill their child, someone he loved, so that she might have a chance at a better future. Why would he do that? She had put Tom through hell as much as she'd damned their child. Daisy. She cried about Daisy too.

One night she woke up trying to breathe. Tom was on top of her. Choking her. His eyes were glazed over and he was calling her Bellatrix again. She clawed at his hands, crying. Everything was ringing in her ears before she found her wand under her pillow. She forced a stunner out and Tom rolled over onto the floor. The spell wore off and Tom didn't remember much of what had happened. He was concerned about the marks on her neck but she shrugged it off. She couldn't blame him for his nightmares.

* * *

It had been almost a year since Hermione came back. They'd moved to a cottage just outside of a small town in Scotland. Tom had considered Italy or France, but Hermione had insisted on staying on the island. He'd thrown out Ireland at one point, in an attempt to compromise. The mirror had been too valuable to destroy to Hermione. Tom would've wanted to blast it to bits. Instead they'd left it in the Room of Requirement before leaving.

Hermione had tried to write poems for the towns newspaper. It was muggle, which Tom had hated. But it did give them more privacy from Tom's reputation he'd built since being redeemed. She crumbled up the piece of paper and tossed it behind her. Another draft for the stupid poetry column. The premise was to be hopeful and inspiring. Throw in love every once in a while. And she felt herself slipping. Slipping the same way she had after the war.

She had gone into Diagon Alley with a polyjuice potion. Then she came to the familiar corner of twin's joke shop; it was still there. There were more shops open since Voldemorts reign never happened. She'd gone into Flourish and Blotts after seeing that some author would be having a book signing. Some petty memoir. She'd crept onto the stairs, hiding behind the main crowd. Apparently the older woman wrote about how she'd evaded capture by that horrible Lady Slytherin and how her family was tortured. Hermione felt her chest constrict as the woman went on about that war period. Hermione stormed out of the bookshop.

There was the echo of thunder in the distance. The impact that Daisy had didn't quite register with Hermione until this moment. She apparated back to the cottage and the spell she'd used to light the fireplace had made purple flames. If she'd listened to that stupid woman in Paris, she could've prevented anything close to Voldemort. Instead she'd been selfish enough to believe that the evil was behind them after Tom had, attempted to be a better person, and had damned her daughter to take over Voldemort's place. Time was a river, it would recorrect itself when needed. She laid on the couch, wondering if there was even such thing as free will. She'd hated divination because it meant that things were predetermined and she didn't have control.

She should've used the accio spell instead. She should've ran out of the storage room. So many things she could've done differently to save Daisy. Of course it had been an abrupt shift to come back to her time period, a few years late and some things changed. And yes it had been easier to shove her old friends out of her life since she didn't really know them anymore. And it was, knowing she'd lost her daughter to a wickedness that couldn't save her. That was worse than finding out she'd just died, just died too soon or had lived a fulfilling life Hermione hadn't been apart of.

Tom had noticed her slipping sometimes. He could try to bring her back to reality. And Hermione still felt that gaping wound of loosing the Potters and the life she'd been content with. There was one Friday that Hermione had started getting ready to go to dinner for before Tom reminded her it was 2005 and not the fifties. Tom. Everything was his fault. It was his fault!

She stormed into his office. Tom was still at work, he'd started working at some shop down in the town but he didn't fancy going back into teaching. The office was as pristine as always. A bit more cramped than their house back in Hogsmade. She blasted the bookcase. Her head tilted as she contemplated setting the thing on fire. Of course, fire's weren't always able to be contained so she turned her attention to the desk. She lounged in the chair, wondering what she could do it. Her eye caught the attention of a locket. It was a round silver thing and she was able to open it without a problem. On one side there was a picture of Tom and a young Daisy messing around in a field, and the other had a picture of Hermione. Euphemia must have sneaked it at Christmas. Hermione started to cry and she threw the locket across the room at anger. She casted a number of blasting hexes on it with no avail.

Her feet thudded on the stairs as she went up to the attic. They'd kept all of Daisy's stuff in boxes. She ripped open one box, there were records and books and the picture of Daisy and Bellatrix slipped out between them. Hermione glared at the picture in her hand and sneered as Daisy looked at Bellatrix with... fascination after the initial cocky attitude. She ripped the picture down in half between the two. Her attention went to the second box and found that damned pegasus toy. A horrible sounding cry emitted itself from her. She didn't notice the sound of hurried footsteps coming up.

"Hermione," Tom's voice echoed.

She kept crying, not bothering to pay attention to Tom kneeling next to her to hold her. Eventually she choked herself up on tears and started to regain herself. Hermione looked down to see Tom's hand holding hers before she ripped her hand away and stood up.

"Hermione, you can't... change anything that's happened," Tom said, struggling to find the words.

"I saved you," Hermione snapped.

"And I don't know if I'll be able to live without you again if you ever tried to go back!"

"You're such a drama queen!"

"Hermione, we got rid of the mirror because we decided to stay here. In this time. Not send you back and hope the result comes out differently."

"It's your fault!"

"How is it my fault!?"

"Because you, I don't know what you did in raising her but obviously you fucked her up! You fucked her up and she became just as wicked as you would have!"

"I tried, Hermione! I tried caring for a child with whatever help I could get, at the same time wondering if you'd ever return!"

"Really? Because I wouldn't hold it against her if you were as distant and pretentious and held her to unreasonable expectations because that's who you are!"

"I tried to treat her like I would any student but I made sure she knew I cared about her and that I loved you. Doesn't that count for anything?"

"No, Tom, it doesn't. I just..."

The tears started coming again. Holding Tom accountable for something she hadn't witnessed was unfair. She didn't want to yell at him for her displacement in time and not knowing how she was supposed to react.

"I'm going to see my parents," she said firmly.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Tom said.

"Oh really."

She'd summoned her coat before diasapparating.

/

It was the same house, same car in the front, only they had been able to stay in England for the last seven or so years. The rain seemed like it was letting up. She went up to the porch and peaked in the window. The telly was on and her mother had walked in with a mug in her hands. Hermione saw a girl, a bit younger than her, sitting next to her dad. The girl bared a striking resemblance to herself, only the girl had long straight hair that looked like it never held a curl in her life. She had on a black shirt and jeans and was rather enthused about the football match. There was a crack behind her and she glanced behind her shoulder to see Tom.

She walked off the porch closer to him.

"What happened? With me and my parents, and who's the girl?" Hermione asked.

"That girl is your sister, Bianca," Tom explained. "She's muggle from what Minerva told me. Apparently you'd had a falling out with her sometime after your fourth year, I believe. A bit like Lily and that snot of a sister she had. You'd also grown distant from your parents."

"The magic thing?"

"Yes the magic thing."

"You never spied on me, did you?"

"No."

" _Tom_."

"I didn't. It was weird enough having Minerva chew me out over marrying you, once she figured it out. Couldn't hear out of my right ear for weeks."

"So that's it. I can't really talk to my friend because, well things are different. I can't talk to my sister because she's what jealous that I'm a witch? And my parents..."

"Hermione, think about what makes you calm down."

"I... I don't know anymore. I don't know anything anymore."

They went back to the cottage. Hermione didn't want to blame Tom for acting distant, but it was more apparent as the year had gone on. She wondered if he ever blamed her for how Daisy turned out. She had moved herself closer to Tom that night when they slept. They still had nightmares, they still comforted each other after them, but they skirted around them.

When he was gone she started using dark spells on the field mice she'd find. It had given her a disorienting feeling of control that she didn't necessarily want to let go of. Her curiosity got the better of her as she fell back onto her dependency on dark magic. She'd been on a high one day and had forgotten it was the day Tom came home early. He'd chastised her about it, and her nose had scrunched up in anger. As if he hadn't been the one to really push her into dark magic, or encouraged her with the practice. She'd thrown a cruciatius at him when he threw Daisy in her face.

She hadn't necessarily felt remorse. She just needed that dependency. It made sense to her, when everything else felt off. And Tom had to remind her he was still technically older than her, and it had been seeing Daisy go down a route he'd nearly done so himself that pushed him into avoiding the dark arts. They decided that Tom would attempt to help her wean herself off of the magics to keep her from relapsing. It was, a little degrading for Hermione at first but the dark magic fix had to end.

They'd taken a walk through the nearby field one day. The wind wasn't harsh and the sun was bright. Hermione had asked Tom if they could try again. He became frustrated and yelled at her that he didn't want another child. She let the conversation drop but anything after that felt more tense. Even the weather became unpleasant as they walked back to the cottage.

* * *

It was a month before Hermione's twenty ninth birthday when she found herself nauseated. The following weekend she was excessively tired that Tom grew wary. Then it happened. Hermione was pregnant again. She'd taken a deep breath and blamed the routine of the potion she'd taken in the fifties. Tom had freaked out and kept talking to himself. He was worried that Daisy would repeat despite Hermione trying to tell him that this time it would work out. This time they would both be around to parent. But even she had to admit she was worried when she'd had a miscarriage and the one child she'd ever been able to hold had become a psychotic monster.

Early June, and they named the boy Pierre Thomas Riddle. This of course, was after a very long drawn out argument since Tom insisted on choosing the first name this time. He teased her about how he picked the name out from the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Hermione picked the middle name in spite. He had Tom's dark wavy hair but his features were softer like Hermione's.

A few times Hermione contemplated talking to her friends again. She refrained as she didn't know who the alternate her had been, since the memories were different. The original ones she had hadn't changed but it would be horrible for everyone to talk about things she didn't know as if she was there. It was strange as the time went by and she had to adjust back into modern society. The fifties after all, weren't that pleasant. Only this time she could see the effects her papers and Tom's influence had had on the wizarding world.

They dropped Pierre off at the train when he started Hogwarts. Hermione had noticed Harry and Ginny with their kids. She held onto Tom's hand, and wasn't sure how to feel when they hadn't noticed her. He wrote them back after his first day to tell them he'd been sorted into Gryffindor and was friends with Lily Luna Potter. He'd also made a point to ask why his father was younger than what he was, since after all a former Professor Tom Riddle had never had any sons, and if he was related to Daisy Riddle. Hermione felt her heart break since she and Tom had tried so hard to shield him from the truth of his older sister. Of course, this made it difficult to explain and they told him they'd tell him when he was older. Tom had tried to jokingly chastise her for that being the reason he didn't want anymore children.

She hoped that the danger was truly behind them and that Pierre could have a normal life. Explaining how his mother was an accidental time traveler would be strange to tell him once the time came, but that seemed like a minor problem for the moment. They sat in front of the fire place reading once Tom had gotten home from work. Hermione felt her eyes growing tired and laid herself across Tom's lap to his amusement. And then she thought about how similar it was to how they first met. A fire and books. Only this time, she felt good about her life and everything that had gone on since.

* * *

 _Authors Notes: Thank you for all of the support on this story, hope you enjoyed this ending._ _I do not plan to make a third installment, however something else that's also Tomione? That is way more likely to be seen. Feel free to leave a review!_


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